180 onwards…
1** 2* 3^ 4* 5* 6* 7* 8 9^ 10* 11* 12* 13* 14 15* 16^ 17* 18* 19* 20* 21* 22* 23 24* 25* 26* 27* 28 29* 30** 31* 32*
Snow Angels The Billionaire's Proxy Thirty Days Key Witness Based on a True Story Family Ever After All Hallows' Joy Taggart's Bride Hot Target The Boys' Club The Forgetful Fiancee Lightning Strikes The Ledoux Curse Husband Material A Little Mischief The Honest Truth Return to Tyler: A Hero for the Holidays Hope in a Handbag To the Edge Seduced by the Season Evidence of Desire Storm Reaper Desire Calls One Night Only Rafferty's Romance Manhattan Cinderella The Cinderella Valentine French Kiss Something Old, Something New The Wolfe and Three Little Griggs Fast and Furious The Italian Billionaire's Bride
By Barbara W. Klaser By Yvonne Lindsay By Lilian Darcy by Terri Reed by Brenda Janowitz By Linda Goodnight By Christine Merrill By Allison Leigh By Suzanne McMinn By Amanda McIntyre By Kara Lennox By Tracy Wolff By Debra Cowan By Melissa McClone By Kasey Michaels By The Honest Truth By Jacqueline Diamond By Annie Jones By Loreth Anne White By Merline Lovelace By Debra Webb By Jeri Smith-Ready By Caridad Pineiro By Ann Christopher By Teresa Southwick By Trish Wylie By Liz Fielding By Lori Wilde By Marisa Carroll By Tanya Michaels By Lori Borrill By Trish Morey
2 177 203 234 261 284 305 325 348 366 392 412 436 462 484 508 534 546 570 609 630 696 727 745 778 804 830 843 873 891 947 975
Till 211…
* eHarlequin, US
^eHarlequin, Aus
** others
rest of them Mills and Boon, UK
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SNOW ANGELS Barbara W. Klaser
Prologue ELEVEN YEARS AGO "You should've turned there, to get to my house." "I know." The young man in the driver's seat kept his gaze on the road. "Where are we going?" "My place." He shot her a grin full of straight teeth. "It's early yet." He was incredibly good looking. Why couldn't she like him? That would make her parents happy, and make this not such a wasted evening. She wouldn't feel guilty about agreeing to go out with him in the first place. It had been dishonest to accept his invitation merely to please her parents, in an attempt to make them less suspicious of her. Why, to gain their trust, did she have to commit this lie? She glimpsed the name on the mailbox as he turned into an asphalt driveway. This must be his parents' house, this grand structure at least four times the size of her own home. There were no other cars in the driveway. "Are your parents here?" "They're out of town with my sisters." He shot her another grin, this one clearly intended to be seductive, an implication of shared conspiracy. A conspiracy she didn't share, or want to. "I live here." He parked in front of a guest cottage, a hundred feet or so from the main house. It was a miniature replica of the larger structure. "Do you have a telephone in there? I need to check in with my parents. They wanted me home by ten." She didn't like that he'd brought her here without asking her first. "Your dad said eleven." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't think my mom knew he said eleven. I should call, and I have to get home soon." When they entered the little house, he put his keys on a table by the door and pointed her toward the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable in here, while I get us something to drink." She put her purse down next to his keys. "No soda or caffeine for me, please. Maybe ice water." She headed for the phone on the desk in the front room.
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He paused in his kitchen doorway and pursed his lips. "How about a glass of wine. Don't tell me you've never had alcohol? You're nearly eighteen." She shrugged. "I have to be up early for work tomorrow." Besides, she was sure her parents hadn't urged her to go out with him so she could drink. That was the last thing they'd intended, and if this was a test she intended to pass. While he was in the kitchen she quickly phoned her mother and let her know where she was. Then she phoned a friend. "Do you have the keys to the van tonight?" "Yeah. Why?" "If I page you from this number, will you come get me? This doesn't feel right." She gave her friend the number and directions. "Okay, but you're the only girl I know who wouldn't be thrilled to go out with him." When he returned with their drinks she was seated on the sofa staring at the painting over his mantle, a particularly gruesome hunting scene. He brought her a tumbler of ice water and a glass of red wine. "In case you change your mind." He nodded toward the painting. "Like it?" "It's not my kind of thing. Do you hunt?" She had friends who hunted, but she'd failed to ever understand their attraction to the sport. "Since I was a kid, every chance I get." He sat beside her and leaned over to kiss her. She turned her cheek to meet his lips. "I don't kiss on the first date." He stared at her as if she'd spoken a foreign language. "My dad gave me the impression you were a wild child, that I was supposed to tame you." "He said that?" "Not exactly, but my mom heard your parents are worried that you're hanging out with a bad crowd--some kind of Satanists who always dress in black?" She sighed, tired of how people twisted things. "I've been dating a guy who's a Pagan. That's not the same thing as a Satanist. He believes in a God and a Goddess, and in following the cycles of nature. My parents don't understand anyone who doesn't believe the same way they do. He wears black a lot because it's his preference, not because of his religion. He's an artist. So am I." Her date nodded, but the vacant look in his eyes made her pretty sure he didn't understand. "I thought you'd at least give me a kiss after I bought you dinner. Just following the cycles of nature." He grinned. "If you wanted me to pay for my dinner, you should've said so. I'll pay my share now." She started to get up for her purse.
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He chuckled and took her hand. "Will you relax? I was joking. Sit here with me, have a sip of wine. We'll just talk for a while if you want." She sat back, thinking maybe she wasn't being fair. She resigned herself to an hour more of his company before it would be polite to insist he take her home. The water glass looked cloudy and she wondered how good a dishwasher he was. She decided a sip or two of the wine wouldn't hurt, and she picked it up. "Cheers." He raised his glass and clinked it against hers, then sipped his. "You're a senior next year, right? What will you do when you graduate?" It was the first time tonight he'd shown any interest in her plans. He'd spent most of the time talking about himself. The wine was bitter and astringent. She took a sip and put it down. "I'm going to college on the East Coast. After that I want to travel, see the world outside Cedar Creek. I'll come back eventually and open my own business here, maybe a bakery." He shook his head. "Once I leave I'm not coming back." "Not even to visit your family?" He didn't answer. He stroked her forearm and studied her face. "You're pretty. I never noticed you when we were younger. I wonder why. What if I just kiss your hand?" He raised her hand to his lips. She giggled, she couldn't help it. Was he serious, or mocking her? He made a low, growling noise, his eyes darkening. He kissed her hand again, then the inside of her forearm. It made her tingle inside, in spite of herself. He stroked her hair, and a moment later her cheek. He gently raised her wine glass to her lips, and she sipped again, then again, deliberately taking the smallest possible sips, deciding he could be charming when he made the attempt. She took the glass from him, and only pretended to sip after that. She was beginning to relax. In fact she thought the wine must be stronger than normal, because it made her fuzzy headed after a few sips. She'd risen early this morning to work in the kitchen at the resort, and it was near her usual bedtime, maybe that was why she felt drowsy. She yawned, and when he got up to put on some music, she leaned back on the sofa. She found herself looking at that painting on the far wall again. Still finding it revolting, she closed her eyes. It took her several seconds to realize he had his arms around her, and was kissing her lips forcefully, his tongue in her mouth, and one hand inside her blouse. He'd rearranged himself and eased her back on the couch. She was lying under him. He started unbuttoning her blouse. She couldn't get enough air.
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"Wait." She started to sit up, feeling lightheaded, though she was certain she'd only had a few sips of the wine. Instead of listening to her, he yanked her blouse open, tearing it. "No. Stop!" He dove his hands inside her bra. Alarm spread through her. She tried to fight his hands off. "No! I said no!" She tried to move away, but he was strong and heavy, with nearly his full weight on her. She struggled harder, and he grasped her wrists tightly, his legs pinning hers to the couch. "No!" He wasn't listening, or responding to her words, and he was stronger. He removed her shoes, pulled up her skirt and tugged at her panties. "Relax," he said, his tone short, urgent, demanding. "Let me go!" She fought him. It hurt now to struggle. He gripped her wrists tightly with one hand above her head. "Should've had more wine," he snarled, breathing fast. His phone rang, and he ignored it, continuing to struggle with her. It rang again. "That's my mother, calling to check on me." He paused and glared at her. "She doesn't trust me, I told you. She'll keep calling, and if she doesn't reach me, she'll come looking for me." "She'll think I'm driving you home." Seconds later the phone had stopped ringing, and she knew he wasn't going to let her go. Not before he got what he wanted. She had to think. She stopped struggling and lay still. He looked her in the eye, suspicious. She made out to be drowsy, remembering how her baby brother looked when sleep overtook him. She let her eyes close, pretending to fall asleep. She was certain now that he'd drugged the wine, probably the cloudy water, too, and she hoped he'd think it had taken its full intended effect. He sat still, on top of her, with his grip loosening on her wrists. Testing her? She slackened every muscle in her body and felt drowsy again. Whatever the drug was, it was potent. She didn't remember drinking much of the wine, yet she had to grapple to keep her feigned sleep from drowsing into the real thing. He believed her act, finally, and let go of her wrists. She let one arm drop, then lay perfectly still, willing her muscles to relax. He lifted her skirt, and it was all she could do not to go rigid or fight him, as he took her panties off. Finally he moved farther away,
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until he wasn't touching any part of her but her legs. She took a deep, slow breath as she cracked her eyes open, feeling sleep tug at her in spite of her fear. He was turned the other way, slipping off his own shoes, unzipping his pants. Several seconds later he moved a foot or so away from her. He'd pulled a condom packet out and was opening it with his teeth. Now he had his pants down to his knees and was lifting a leg to remove them. She moved. He snatched at her blouse as she moved, tearing it more. She kept going. She ran to the door and grabbed her purse and his keys before he could catch his balance and move far. She ran. She had no idea how fast he would be, but he looked athletic and he could slip his shoes back on, while hers were still on the floor beside his sofa. She kept running, barefoot, wondering only briefly what objects her feet struck as she moved, running as fast as her legs and her newest surge of adrenaline could carry her. When she heard his car turn onto the road, she realized he must have had a spare key. A rise of alarm sent her into the woods, out of sight of the road. There she couldn't move nearly as fast, but she kept going, keeping herself out of sight of the road. He passed her. A moment later he'd turned around and was heading more slowly back in her direction. He shone a flashlight into the woods, first on one side then the other, as he moved slowly up the road. She stood out of sight behind a large tree and some brush, breathing hard, again fighting sleepiness. She gripped his keys so tightly they dug into the flesh of her hand. She kept the keys tightly balled so they didn't make a noise, and placed them on the ground near her feet, afraid to let them jingle, afraid to breathe too loudly. How long would it take her to get home on foot? Could she make it through the woods? How far was it to her house? She was too confused, her thoughts scrambling with her fear and the drug. How would she find her way in the dark? He passed her a second time with his light. She started through the woods in what she hoped was the direction of the resort, staying as close to the road as she dared, to avoid getting more disoriented. He must've given up, because after his second sweep with the light he didn't come back. Had he gone on into town? She walked, less panicked now, her adrenaline surplus gradually fading. Her feet hurt. Her wrists ached where he'd gripped her. She became aware that her blouse was ripped and wouldn't button. It hung open, exposing her lace bra. Her skirt was rumpled and crooked; her panties were back at his house. Her hair was a ragged mess, falling down
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around her face and neck, lopsided and tangled. Her hands shook whenever she tried to hold her blouse together. She gave up and concentrated instead on where she was going, and on blinking away the tears that threatened to blur her vision. Finally she heard another vehicle on the road. Not his car, but something big. Its headlights were higher off the ground and wider apart. She moved out and waved at it. It was the van from the resort. It stopped beside her, and she opened the door. Her friend was driving. "My God, what happened? Hurry and get in. I got to feeling weird about your call, and I called you back, but no one answered. I decided to drive out this way. There's a blanket in the back." Chapter 1 Success doesn't mean happiness. Tess Hunter read the words she'd written on the paper in front of her, and blinked at them a few times. They were a portion of her silent argument with a thesaurus in a computer program, this electronic listing on the screen of her laptop that ranked success right in there with words like satisfaction, contentment, happiness. Could the program be wrong about the meaning of success, or was she? Tess Hunter thought she'd found success, at a young age, but it didn't feel like happiness to her. It felt more like a trap. She sighed and swiveled her chair back to the drafting table, where the half-inked drawing of a Victorian tea party mocked her with its sterility. Tess glanced out the window to her left, focused through the brown band of smog above the horizon visible between hundreds of other structures, and imagined she glimpsed the pale glint of the ocean beyond. This was wishful thinking. She couldn't see it from here. She took a deep breath of the filtered, conditioned air of the building from which she and her partners ran their magazine and publishing business, then looked down at her drawing, and sighed again. "This isn't working." "It looks great to me." This came from the doorway behind her. Her secretary Debbie held a paper bag out to Tess as she entered her office. "I come bearing lunch. You looked preoccupied earlier, and I didn't think you heard my offer to bring you something, so I assumed you'd want the usual. Tuna salad on rye?" Tess thanked her and realized how hungry she was, as she took the bag. She removed the sandwich wrapped in white paper, along with a bundle of paper napkins. She unfolded a napkin, then unwrapped and picked up half the sandwich. "What don't you like about it?" Debbie was looking at the drawing again, her face placid. Tess paused to chew and swallow her first bite of tuna on rye before she admitted, "I wasn't actually thinking about the drawing. I was . . . muttering to myself."
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The drawing hadn't progressed since yesterday, and Tess had spent most of this afternoon sitting here daydreaming, caught up in her thoughts of escape, of rebellion-possibly total abandon. "Tess." Her partner Harry Ryker leaned his head in the doorway behind Debbie. He spoke in a clipped British accent. "Have you got a moment to meet with Paige and me about the name change?" Tess glanced down at her sandwich, in an inexplicable instant of panic. She put the sandwich down as Harry Ryker and their other partner Paige Chandler pressed into the office, and Tess's secretary Debbie was the one who escaped. "Oh, you're having lunch." Paige Chandler was a tall woman with chestnut brown hair and piercing dark eyes. Her glance moved from the sandwich to the drawing on Tess's drafting table. She moved into the room and sat in one of the chairs across from Tess's desk. Harry Ryker followed suit, maneuvering his lean frame into a chair in one swift movement. Tess sighed and wiped her hands with her paper napkin. "I'm sure we will eventually decide on a new name for the magazine. But today isn't a good day. I'm not making any progress at all on this." She waved at the drawing. "I doubt I'll be much more creative about a name." "We want to present you with an idea," Paige Chandler said, her face bright with enthusiasm. Tess wondered what they would both say if she told them she didn't care what they called the magazine because she was leaving. She was in fact making plans to go away for a few weeks to think through what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She glanced at each of them, afraid she'd spoken those thoughts out loud. "Harry thinks we should add your name to the magazine title, something like Tess Hunter's Treasured Home. Only not Treasured Home anymore, of course. The point of this exercise is to get rid of that. We'd go from Treasured Home to Tess Hunter's Simple Pleasures, or Tess Hunter's Creative Living Magazine. You see?" Tess shook her head. She saw, yes. They didn't see. Hadn't they noticed how silent she'd been on many decisions of late? Couldn't they hear in her tone that she was backing away from the business, from caring about the business? That she'd been doing so for months? She didn't see how it could be anything but clear to everyone around her that she no longer had the passion about their magazine that a publisher should have. "You don't understand." Tess hesitated. They weren't just her partners, they were her friends--especially Paige, who'd been Tess's best friend since their first year of college. Tess dreaded letting them down, but she certainly didn't want the magazine named after her! Paige looked at Harry. "I told you she wouldn't go for it." She leaned toward Tess, "Look, just think about it. Now we do need to go over the names. Let's brainstorm. That doesn't take too much creative genius. Even Harry can manage that."
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"Thank you." Harry sent her a look. "I'm taking a vacation," Tess blurted out. "I don't want to make any decisions, about the name change or anything else, until I've had some time away." Her words halted Paige, who blinked. "You never take vacations." Then Paige narrowed her dark eyes. "What's going on?" "I want some time away, to think. I'm planning to visit my family in Cedar Creek, I haven't seen them in years. I've recently been needing to . . . well, to rethink some of my decisions about my career, about my place in the business." She'd said it. Paige looked as if she'd been slapped. Harry wore a blank expression, his eyes a bit glazed over. "Rethink?" Paige repeated. "Your career?" "Yes. I can't contemplate the name change--especially putting my name on the magazine--before I do that." Tess nodded toward her laptop computer. "I've finished up my columns for the next few issues, and I'm hoping you'll be able to do without me for a few weeks--until the New Year." Paige and Harry exchanged looks. Both leaned forward. Paige said, "Tess, why haven't you said anything before? You know we're serious about the name change. I mean, I know we go through this drill every year, but that's why I entertained the idea of using your name. Because we're serious about it this time. I thought we all were. You--" "I know, and I'm sorry I haven't spoken up before now. I should have, but I've been having a terrible time concentrating on anything to do with the business. I've been working shorter days for months. Surely you've noticed. Maybe I'm burned out, and the time off will help me re-light the fire in myself again, but for now I feel this need . . . to escape." Paige stood up. "Escape?" She wore the look of someone who'd been struck a blow. She looked at Harry. "I need to escape. Right now." Paige left the room. Harry stood and looked after Paige, then at Tess. "I thought we were the ones coming in here with a bomb to drop in the workings. I--well--I'll let you get on with . . ." He moved slowly, glancing at her sandwich, her unfinished drawing, and finally the surface of her desk. He paused and took on a sorrowful expression. Then he left the room. Tess looked down at the desk where he'd focused, and saw her doodle in the center of the paper blotter, where she'd scrawled in bold black letters with her Rapidograph technical pen, "Success doesn't mean happiness."
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### Tess spent Saturday morning trying to avoid all thought of the office, her business, or her partners' reactions to her announcement. The more she resisted thinking about it the more it preoccupied her. She hadn't intended her news to come out that way. She'd hoped to have a meeting with them and calmly lead up to the possibility of her leaving, for a vacation at first, an extended leave, and then discuss the possibility that her absence might become permanent. She'd hoped to take the first few weeks off to prove to them she wasn't needed. Anyone with some editorial and home arts background could do what Tess had been doing for the past five years. Any decent commercial artist could provide the same caliber of artwork. They didn't carry that many of her illustrations in the magazine and cookbooks these days, most of the time they used photographs. Theirs was no longer a struggling new business. They'd paid off their debts to Paige's father, the publishing business was growing, magazine circulation had increased, and most of the effort didn't directly involve Tess's culinary or fine arts background, or for that matter her ideas. She'd been thinking Paige and Harry could continue the business easily without her. They didn't see it that way, and now she'd blown her chance to ease them into the idea, by blurting out her escape plan in an inept and upsetting way. Tess moped around her little house overlooking a canyon near the beach. She fiddled around in a haphazard way in the room she'd set aside for painting, then in the kitchen. When she'd moved here months ago, she'd equipped it as a duplicate of the test kitchen at the office, so she could bring work home. She looked around at the appliances with their cold, slick surfaces and suddenly felt lost in her own house. ### Early Saturday evening Tess picked up the phone and called information, asked for the number of Stoneway Resort in Cedar Creek, and dialed the number. When the reservations clerk at Stoneway answered, Tess asked to speak to her former schoolmate Angie Norwood. From the time Tess had been eight years old until she'd left Cedar Creek at seventeen, Angie Norwood had been her closest friend. But Tess hadn't been in touch with Angie since she'd left home eleven years ago. She recalled her mother mentioning, during one of their infrequent phone calls, that Angie owned Stoneway now. "Tess?" A pause. "Tess Hunter? Oh my gosh! Where are you?" "Angie, I'll tell you my whole life's story since we last spoke, once I'm there, but I'm calling to make reservations to stay at the resort for a few weeks." Tess told Angie the date she wanted to arrive and explained that she planned to stay through the end of the year. "I'm hoping to surprise my family, so please don't tell anyone about my visit yet. I'm also wondering if you'll discreetly check with my parents to find out if they plan to be in town over Thanksgiving and the winter holidays."
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Angie agreed to help Tess plan her surprise. She reserved a room for her and said she'd call Tess back on Sunday about the Hunter family's plans. "Pack plenty of warm clothes. It's been snowing like crazy up here, for days. I can't wait to see you!" ### Tess arrived at work late Monday morning and found Paige Chandler and Harry Ryker waiting for her. She hadn't gotten a cup of coffee or put down her bag before they entered her office, ready to talk about her plans. "Okay, I'm over my initial shock," Paige said. "I want to know how long you've been feeling this need to escape. It hasn't been for the entire five years, has it? I know I have a forceful personality, and I tend to steamroll people, but I thought you knew me well enough not to let yourself get carried away by my crazy schemes unless you wanted to. Tell me you haven't been involved in this whole business just because I wanted it." "No, Paige," Tess said. "I wanted it too, but I've been doing a lot of painting, at home, since I bought the house. The drawings I've done for this book are lifeless in comparison. There's the test kitchen, working in an environment that isn't anything like a house, trying to feel inspired to nurture a nonexistent family. It's all become a sham for me. I don't feel anything nurturing or homey at all in this anymore. I look at all the magazines on the racks in the supermarket, and I think the people who put them together have no idea at all what makes a house a home. Including us, to a certain degree. I mean, look at the three of us. We're single, and we spend most of our time here." Tess stopped, because Paige wore a stormy look in her dark eyes. "There, you see? I can't talk about it without offending you. I'm saying what I feel, Paige." Tess looked at Harry. "I know it's business, that's what it's supposed to be. It's a good business. I'm just not certain I want it to be my business anymore. How can I, feeling this way about it? I'm hoping all I need is some time off, that I'll get over this--whatever it is I'm going through. But I might not, and I want you both to be prepared for that possibility. Can we call it a hiatus, for now, and try not to draw any conclusions from my need for it, until I've had some time away to get a grip on myself?" Harry and Paige both nodded in grim silence. "I know this couldn't come at a worse time. I know you're serious about the name change this year. I couldn't let you go any further without saying something." Tess took a deep breath and leaned toward them, over her desk. "What do you need from me before I take my leave of absence?" Paige met her gaze, her brown eyes still dark and troubled. "You're going home?" Tess nodded. "For the holidays, for a start. I've made reservations at an inn that an old schoolmate of mine owns, a couple miles outside Cedar Creek. I'm planning to be there in time for Thanksgiving." "That's week after next," Harry said with a renewed look of panic.
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"I don't see any reason to delay, now that you know. The sooner I get away the sooner we'll all be able to decide what direction we're headed." An hour later, they were conversing like partners again, like business people, Tess thought. They made plans to turn over Tess's work, but Paige stalled at Tess's mention of the book she was working on. "That's your project." "We haven't even named it. We keep calling it the tea party book," Tess argued. Paige nodded. "I know. It makes me think of the Boston Tea Party. More now than ever." She said this in a grim tone, with a pointed look at Tess. "But it's your project." "It's a vacation, Paige, not a revolution." "It feels like a revolution to me." "Tess." Debbie stood at the office door, wearing a tragic look. "You have an urgent call." "Who is it, Debbie?" Tess spoke with an uncharacteristic sharpness, annoyed by the interruption. She needed Paige to understand her. She turned back to Paige, prepared to continue their discussion. "It's Sheriff Les Kendall. From Wilder County." Debbie's voice was subdued but emphatic. "It's urgent, Tess." Tess paused and turned back to Debbie as the significance sank in, of receiving a call from the sheriff of the county where her family lived. She picked up the phone. "This is Tess Hunter." Instead of leaving as she normally would, Debbie walked over to Paige and Harry and spoke softly to them. On the phone Sheriff Kendall said something to Tess about a van going off a mountain road, over an embankment. Something about people killed in the crash. Tess couldn't absorb the sheriff's words. They jumbled in her mind. She wanted to change them around, to make this not about her family. Then he said the names of those who'd been killed: James Hunter, Catherine Hunter, and Spencer Hunter. Her parents' and brother's names. Killed. In the crash. Spence is only seventeen. The single thought resounded in her mind, and she was sure she'd said it out loud, but when she did try to speak, her voice broke, and she could only listen to the sheriff go on about what had happened and how sorry he was. His words hit her like a weight pressing against her chest, constricting her breath. Tess fought past that weight and stood up. She drew in her breath as though she'd been too long underwater. Her mind fought comprehension, wrestled with it. The hand that held the phone dropped to her side. Harry took the phone from her and spoke calmly, quietly to the sheriff. Paige put her arms around Tess, speaking in a comforting tone, words Tess didn't grasp.
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Some time later, Tess walked outside to a car under Harry's big black umbrella. She realized later it must have been raining when he drove her to her house overlooking the canyon. She didn't remember the rain, only the sheltering blackness of the umbrella.
Chapter 2 Cedar Creek, California, lay in a small mountain valley north of the Wilder County seat, surrounded by the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Stars lit the sky at dusk, between the soft clouds of a late fall edging early into winter. The silvers, grays, and dusky blues of the sky and distant peaks were only a bit paler than the indigos of the nearer mountains. The blues of dusk enveloped the snowy mountains, softening them. A few bright stars shone like diamonds in the wintry nightfall. Tess Hunter drove through the town as its lights twinkled on in the deepening twilight. Autumn snow blanketed the ground. The old high school Tess had attended was gone, replaced by a new one half a mile nearer the center of Cedar Creek. Her brother Spence had attended this one, until he died. The thought struck at Tess in the dusk like a blunt object, but she shook off her grief for the moment, concentrating on the drive. Outside town, the road meandered around mountain slopes covered with trees. A layer of fresh snow lined the road. Tess cautiously rounded the tight curves, especially the one from which the sheriff had said her family's van skidded into the deep ravine only this morning. Farther up the road, Tess turned, and a minute after that she spotted the amber lights of her parents' house, where it stood alone, set off from the road, surrounded by meadow and backed up by forest, all currently buried under at least a half foot of snow. She parked the rental car in the long driveway beside a dilapidated old pickup truck. Smoke curled from a chimney. Another light came on in the living room, and Tess imagined her father bending to feed the fire, her mother turning on a lamp. "Stop torturing yourself." She pushed back the grief that stuck in her chest like a physical object making each breath a labor. Angie Norwood had said she would try to meet Tess here. It must be Angie who was warming up the house. Tess wondered about the old truck. It didn't strike her as something Angie would drive. She gathered one suitcase and an overnight bag from the trunk, hoping Angie wouldn't want to visit. Tess longed to be alone with her grief and to rest from the grueling drive. She paused beside the driveway and stared at the wooden ramp that had been added alongside the porch. A wheelchair ramp. The sheriff had said something about a wheelchair that Tess hadn't understood in her confusion and shock this morning. As she climbed the steps, the front door opened. A tall male figure stood in the foyer with the bright overhead light behind him. He was silhouetted against it. Tess paused again, vaguely alarmed, trying to think who he could be. He reached out to take her bags, and then she caught his profile as he turned to place the luggage on the floor. Recognition flickered in Tess's mind.
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"You'd better come in out of the cold." His voice was deep and resonant. He reached out and guided her into the house, and his firm hand on her arm warmed her. When he moved it away to close the door behind her she shivered. It was then that she got a good look at him. He'd been only seventeen when she'd last seen him. Now he stood at least six-foot-two, with wavy black hair and a thick, neatly trimmed moustache above sensuous lips. His eyes were dark green and glinted with gold flecks in the lamplight, their corners lined with tiny creases. His nose and jaws were sturdy and handsome. "I'm Tess Hunter," she said, in case there was any doubt in his mind as to who she was and why she was here. "You were only about twelve years old the last time I saw you, Tess, but I think I'd recognize you anywhere. The question is, do you remember me?" She relaxed. "Joseph Latimer. I used to follow you around everywhere when I was little." As she spoke she pictured the tall, lanky, athletic boy he'd been. She'd had a crush on Joe Latimer from the time she was seven or eight, until he went away to college when Tess was twelve. She'd cried, at fourteen, when her mother heard from his mother that Joe had married. "As I recall, at the time I rather liked it." He wore a sober expression. "Liked what?" "You following me around." He shifted his attention to her luggage on the floor, and motioned toward it. "Do you have more bags?" "The rest can wait." She took off her gloves and dropped them on top of her bags. "I expected Angie Norwood." "Angie called and asked me for the key, but I know she's busy at Stoneway this time of year, so I told her I'd open the house for you. I have a key for you, and I've brought in firewood. You'll find the pantry and freezer full. Everything you'll need." He started his last sentence with a vague half-smile that faded into regret. Tess thanked him and looked around the living room. Nothing here had changed except for the emptiness. The furnishings were the same ones she remembered, though the old couch and armchairs had been reupholstered. The wood furnishings gleamed, and the piano stood in its old place with the keyboard open as if her mom had just finished playing. Her family had been here just this morning, before that last drive. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted from the kitchen, and a small stack of unopened mail lay on the table near the door. Tess recognized the envelope on top. It contained a card she'd addressed to her family days ago. "I was going to visit them--" The words caught in her throat and threatened to choke her with the intensity of feeling they aroused. She had pushed her grief deep inside, to get
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through the flight from L.A. and the drive here in the rental car. Now it rose inside her like a great chunk of ice bobbing to the surface, refusing to be ignored. She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned at a movement beside her. Joe Latimer watched her with an indecipherable expression. "I was going to surprise them for the holidays." Joe's eyes narrowed and a frown deepened the lines on his forehead. "It's too late now, Tess." He spoke in a low voice, as if talking to himself, but he stood beside her so every word was clear, and resounded with emotion. "Why did you wait so long? What were you punishing them for?" His words hit her with a force that made her step backward. "I didn't--they--my parents-didn't want--" His look was fierce. A glint in his eyes disappeared when he blinked. His voice shook. "Don't you mean you didn't want to see them, even though your dad was sick? Even though your mother was one of the most nurturing people ever known? What about Spence? They missed you, Tess. I knew them, I loved them. Don't tell me they didn't want to see you. You discarded them, and it's too late to change that now." He turned toward the hall, cleared his throat, and grabbed a jacket off the rack. He pulled it on, keeping his face averted, then he said a gruff goodnight. He had his hand on the doorknob by the time Tess found her voice. "Wait. Joe. What was wrong with my father?" He shook his head and rumbled in a gravelly voice, "He had MS. I'm sure you knew that. He was forced to retire because of it." Then, clearing his throat again, he looked suddenly regretful. He drew in his breath as he opened the door, and uttered more calmly, "If you need anything while you're here, you can call me or Rose. We're in the book." He closed the door and was gone. Tess turned away, stunned by his words. She switched off the overhead light and stood with her back to the door, staring into the unlit foyer, at her bags on the floor beside the ceramic umbrella stand. The deeper darkness of her father's study yawned to her left. The stairs in front of her rose into a part of the house that seemed to both beckon and oppose her, from beyond the barrier of the stair railing. Joe Latimer's truck started outside, loud at first and then dropping to an idle as he warmed it up. Seconds later it moved, and eventually the sound droned away onto the road below the driveway. The chill of Joe's words hung in the foyer, and pushed Tess toward the warmth and light of the living room to her right. A door beside the living room fireplace led to the guestroom. To the left of that lay the open dimness of the dining room. Behind the wall that lined the stairs the kitchen-family room beckoned, reminding Tess of her mother. Tess moved in that direction, through the dining room, then abruptly to her left. Joe had lit a fire in the big family room fireplace. She threw another log on the fire. On the hearth lay a few copies of Treasured Home. At the sight of them Tess stopped, and her tears startled her, surfacing all at once.
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Long minutes later, Tess sat warming herself with a cup of coffee in front of the family room fire, still brooding over Joe Latimer's words, with her coat flung over the rocking chair where she'd removed it. She heard a car outside, and she wondered whether Joe had forgotten something, or if he'd returned to apologize. The vehicle didn't sound like a truck. Tess reached the front door as someone pounded on it. A young blonde woman stood on the porch, dressed in a long fur coat that looked like sable, with her fur-clad arms folded across her chest. One elegant brown shoe tapped impatiently. Her golden hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, while her striking face conveyed annoyance. Tess stared, amazed to see this glamorous-looking woman on her parents' doorstep. The woman brushed past Tess in a cloud of perfume. "I'm looking for Joe Latimer. Is he here?" She didn't ask. She demanded. She turned inside the living room and looked at Tess, her arms still folded. There was something both expectant and imposing about her. Tess closed the door against the cold. "Joe lives a quarter mile farther along the--" "I know where he lives. I was told he came here hours ago." The girl swept her gaze around the living room. "He just left. I think he was headed home." The blonde cursed and actually stamped her foot. "Can I help you? I'm Tess Hunter." Tess held out her hand. The young woman turned a cold gaze on Tess, and a curious expression entered her large brown eyes. "How could you possibly help me?" The brown eyes quickly dismissed Tess. That was enough for Tess. She moved into the living room, where she faced the blonde. "If you'll treat me civilly by telling me your name and asking politely, I might let you use the telephone. It could save you running around in the cold. If you can't behave, the door is that way." She pointed. The blonde looked startled, then thoughtful. Finally she shrugged, lowering her dark eyelashes. She murmured coolly, "I'm Jessica Laine." She spoke her name as though she thought Tess should know who she was. "I would like to use your phone. Please. I didn't catch your name." "Tess. Hunter. The phone is through there." Tess nodded in the direction of the kitchen, wanting the woman to hurry and leave her alone with her grief and her feelings still wounded by Joe Latimer's harsh words. "Do you mind if I take off my coat? It's nice and cozy in here." Jessica Laine, her tone suddenly sweeter, took off the fur and handed it to Tess, who couldn't help a second look at Jessica's dress. It was made of soft brown wool with gold threads woven through.
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"Do you like it?" Jessica asked as she noticed Tess's attention focused on the dress. "It's very becoming," Tess ventured objectively. "It's a designer original. I picked it up at a New York fashion show a few weeks ago," Jessica said blithely. "Really." Tess knew the dress wasn't haute couture. It was reasonably priced in the department stores. Tess knew because she owned the same dress. The coat, on the other hand, felt like real fur. Tess hung it on the rack in the corner beneath the stairs, a little loath to touch it. "The phone's through the dining room there, to the left, in the kitchen." She pointed. "Have you known Joe long?" Jessica removed beige kid gloves to reveal long, manicured fingernails. "Since we were children." "I see." The blonde nodded and left the room. Tess didn't follow. She simply waited, for what seemed an eternity, trying not to hear the sugary tone of the voice in the other room and unwilling to make out what it said to Joe Latimer. "Joe's at home of all places," the blonde said when she returned to the front room minutes later. She donned her coat. "He was supposed to be up at my place an hour ago. We're having dinner with my uncle tonight. Thank you for the use of your phone, er-Teri?" "Tess." Jessica shrugged. "Nite-nite now." With that she left Tess to close the door behind her. "Nite-nite," Tess mimicked her with a grimace. "You've got to be kidding!" ### Daisies. Tess held a bunch of white daisies, in the dream, and looked into the deep green eyes of the older boy, Joseph. Tess wakened, and realized the dream was a memory of something that had actually happened when she was seven years old. Joseph Latimer had given her flowers. He couldn't have been more than twelve at the time. She recalled his smile, his kindness, and her affection for him in those years past, when they'd been neighbors. It was only a dream, brought on no doubt by seeing Joe as soon as she arrived home last night. Tess shrugged it off as she looked around the cold room in which she'd slept, the downstairs guestroom at her parents' house. She hadn't wanted to go upstairs at all, last night. Even so, she hadn't avoided her family's things, because she'd discovered that her father had been sleeping in this room. The bathroom was fitted with hand grips, as well as other amenities clearly intended for someone with a disability. Tess hadn't
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found any of her mother's things in the bathroom, dresser, or closet. She could only conclude that her parents had been sleeping apart. Tess had been too tired to puzzle long over these discoveries last night. She'd unpacked only her nightgown and robe and had gone to bed, there to toss and turn on the unfamiliar mattress and wake up at every creak of the old house. The room was freezing now. Tess got up and quickly put on her robe, turned on the heat, built up a fire, and then crawled into bed with her robe on and pulled the quilt back over her to wait for the room to warm up. She had forgotten how cold mornings could be up here. The kitchen phone was the only one in the house. Once Tess had dressed she sat on a stool at the counter near the back door, and phoned the sheriff's office in Wilder. After that call she searched for her parents' address book, and found it in a kitchen drawer. It was held together by a rubber band, with old addresses scratched out and new ones entered wherever space permitted, in her mother's neat, elegant hand. Tess finally came across the listing for a Dr. Peter Lloyd in neighboring Wilder. She wanted to know more about her father's illness, which Joe Latimer had mentioned to her, the illness behind the ramp out front and the wheelchair the sheriff had mentioned. Tess planned to drive to Wilder this morning to see the sheriff and to make funeral arrangements. She called the doctor's office. Dr. Lloyd answered the phone himself. He knew about the accident and offered his condolences at once. He confirmed that he'd been her father's primary care physician, and he agreed to meet with Tess this morning. "I've been hoping for a chance to speak with you. Did your father call you sometime in the last day or two before his death?" "No. Why?" Her parents had rarely called her, and when one of them did it was usually her mother. "We can talk about that when you get here." Dr. Lloyd gave her directions to his office. As Tess hung up, she glimpsed a pair of beige kid gloves on the counter beside her, and she picked them up. They were Jessica Laine's. She must have left them here last night when she used the phone. Tess finally found the number for her parents' attorney. When she phoned his office, she learned he was out of town on a tour of Europe and wouldn't return for weeks. She left a message, hoping, as his secretary suggested, that he'd check in sometime during the next few days. Next she called the sheriff, then looked up the mortuary in Wilder, and the small weekly newspaper there. Tess had her coat on and was about to leave, when the phone rang. She hurried back to the kitchen to answer. Angie Norwood spoke before Tess could say hello. "Joe Latimer was just here to look at one of our horses. He started grilling me about you. He asked if you'd planned to visit for the holidays. What's going on?"
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Tess wondered the same thing. "What did you say?" "I told him you'd planned to stay here at Stoneway and surprise your folks for Thanksgiving. I didn't like his attitude, though. Was he there last night when you arrived? Had he warmed up the house? He told me he would." "Yes, he was here." Tess heard an engine out front, and thought it sounded a lot like the old truck Joe had driven last night. Tess thought she'd never get out of the house in time to meet Dr. Lloyd. "When you're ready, let me help you go through your family's things. Remember, I went through all that when Granddad died. I know how hard it can be." The doorbell rang. "Thanks, Angie. I will. I have to go. Someone's at the door." Tess hung up, and shrugged on her coat as she went out to the foyer. It was Joe Latimer. Tess started to speak, but paused as her gaze followed the lines of the cables in his pale blue Aran sweater down his broad chest to where they met the V of the ice-blue jacket he wore partially zipped over it. Good grief, he was magnificent, she thought, seeing him for the first time in daylight and without fatigue clouding her impression as it had last night. "Good morning, Tess." Tess lifted her gaze to meet his deep green eyes. He smiled, and she recalled her dream, of the boy Joseph handing her a bunch of daisies. She couldn't help a baffled smile in return. "May I come in?" She nodded, and he moved past her, turning to face her as soon as she'd closed the door. He stood so near that Tess could feel his warmth in the cold air left by the briefly open door. "I asked Angie this morning about your plan to visit home. She told me it was true." Joe wore a serious expression now. He was so close that his words blew the warmth of his breath onto the top of her head, and she felt light headed as she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry you needed proof." She was determined to keep her cool. "It didn't fit your pattern." "My pattern?" "Your pattern of staying away from here." He watched her intently through narrowed eyes.
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"Look, I was about to leave. I have an appointment in Wilder." She needed to escape the sphere of his magnetism, or whatever it was that disoriented her. Joe remained where he stood, so close she felt cornered between him and the door. She reached up to straighten the collar of her coat. She was too warm in it, with him so near. What did he want? If he'd come to apologize, he hadn't done so yet. He kept looking at her, his expression unreadable. She silently cursed his masculine presence, and its unmistakable effect on her. She wondered how he could make her feel this way, so many years after her silly girlhood crush. She was a businesswoman. She didn't habitually fawn over every good-looking man she met. A bang on the door behind her made Tess jump. Joe put a hand on her shoulder. She relaxed, leaning into his touch without thinking about it. He was closer now, and his gaze drew her in. The pounding on the front door continued. Tess turned to open it. Jessica Laine, the blonde visitor from last night, stood there wearing a silver fox fur jacket over a gray suede dress. Her liquid silver necklace shone in the morning sunlight slanting under the eave of the porch. "Joe, darling, what are you doing here?" She skimmed past Tess into the front hall, without a glance in her direction, and it was suddenly far too crowded with all three of them there in the foyer. "You're supposed to be on your way to meet Uncle Ned. Don't you ever want to get this project off the ground?" Jessica put her arm around Joe's neck and reached up to kiss him. He turned his cheek to meet her lips as she crooned, and Tess squeezed past them into the living room. "Jessica, we're guests in Tess's home." Joe pulled away from the blonde with a bemused smile. "Why are you here?" "I left my gloves here last night when I came looking for you." "You came here?" He glanced at Tess, then again at Jessica. "When?" He was the one who looked disoriented now. "I called you from here, silly." Jessica turned an insolent look at Tess. Then she smiled. "How are you holding up? When I lost my father, I was devastated, but I understand you weren't that close to your parents and, being older, perhaps you're better able to handle your loss. My cousin Trent asked me, last night, about what happened to your family." "Trent?" An alarm rose in Tess's mind at mention of the name. "Trent Cambridge. He's my cousin." "Your--Trent is here, in Cedar Creek?" "Of course he's here, he lives here. His father is my Uncle Ned." Jessica turned to grasp Joe's arm. "Joe, we have to go."
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"I'll get your gloves." Tess rushed back to the kitchen for them, and returned to find the blonde clinging to Joe's arm, leaning up to murmur in his ear. As soon as Joe saw Tess he sidled away from Jessica, guided her toward the front door, and opened it. He took the gloves from Tess and placed them in Jessica's hand. "Go on ahead." "But Joe." "I'll follow you in a few minutes." He held the door for her and she went out wearing a petulant look. Joe closed the door and turned to Tess. "Sorry, I have a breakfast meeting with Ned Cambridge to ask for his help financing a project of mine. Jessica's . . . part of the project." "I have to leave for Wilder," Tess said with a glance at her watch. "I'm running late myself." She grabbed her purse off the coat rack and went to the door, hoping Joe would follow her and leave, so she could as well. He touched her shoulder. She turned and found herself once again between him and the door. "Were you all right here alone last night? Do you have everything you need?" "Yes." Everything she could want, except her family. She met his gaze, and again he had that mesmerizing, warming and arousing effect on her. She didn't understand it. She told herself to turn away, to open the door and say goodbye to the man. Did she have to shoo him out of the house? Instead she stood there gazing into his eyes, the warmth of his body affecting her like the pull of a magnet. Joe leaned nearer, with a serious, wondering look in his eyes, and kissed her lightly on the lips. Tess felt a heat from his kiss that she could neither ignore nor explain. She moved back, into the door. Joe's expression altered. "I shouldn't have done that." He moved around her and she squirmed to one side as he opened the door. He closed it behind him, leaving Tess standing there stunned once again by his behavior, and this time by her own as well, for letting him kiss her. For liking it. She decided to wait until he drove away before going out to her rental car, and she peered out the sheer curtains in the living room--in time to see him locked in an embrace with Jessica Laine. Joe and the stunning blonde stood between his truck and Jessica's yellow sports car, kissing. They appeared oblivious to anything else including the cold. Tess could only watch for a split second before she turned away, flushed with humiliation and anger that she'd allowed him to get a physical reaction from her with that
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single light kiss, when the object of his romantic preference was clearly the glamorous, fur-clad Jessica Laine. Tess reminded herself why she was here, of her family's deaths, only yesterday, and the arrangements she needed to make, the questions she needed to answer. She couldn't believe she'd let herself get so carried away by Joe Latimer in the few minutes he'd been here. It must be grief, bringing all her emotions close to the surface, that made her react this way. She shook off her lingering images of him, and shifted her thoughts to the unappealing tasks ahead. Chapter 3 In spite of being the county seat, Wilder wasn't a much bigger town than Cedar Creek. From the main street where Tess parked, the peaks overlooking the town appeared to loom close, obscuring a large expanse of sky. Sunlight brightened patches of deep green and a few thickets of deciduous trees clad in fall color peeked from under their coats of snow on the timbered mountainsides. Conifers marched, straight and tall, down to mingle with the historic streets, shading the false fronts of buildings from an earlier era and filling the sun-warmed air with their resinous perfume. Tess had arrived a few minutes early, after all, so she stopped in at the diner next to the doctor's office and bought coffee in a paper cup. It turned out to be so bitter and thick it was undrinkable. She took only a couple of sips before she paused to pour the dark liquid into the gutter in front of the doctor's office. Dr. Lloyd opened his door. "You must be Tess Hunter." He chuckled when he saw what Tess was doing. "I should've warned you about that. I've made us some decent coffee inside. I honestly don't know how they stay in business." He held the door for her. The doctor was tall and lean, in his late thirties. He was a good looking man, with pale, blue-gray eyes, a largish nose, and golden tanned skin. His hair, possibly once the darker shade of brown still evident in his eyebrows, was bleached by the sun to a flaxen shade. He must spend a lot of time outdoors. In fact he appeared ready to spend today outside, for he was clothed in casual clothes and boots suitable for hiking in the snow. Tess spotted what appeared to be a tackle box on the reception desk. She followed him through the tiny front waiting room lined with windows and furnished with threadbare chairs, and she recalled this had once been a barbershop. He led her into the reception office, where a coffee maker gurgled its last few drips into a glass carafe. Dr. Lloyd busied himself pouring their coffee, and Tess asked him how long he'd been here. "In Wilder about four and a half years. In this office, if I may be so bold as to call it that, only about three months. How do you take your coffee?" He smiled, a relaxed, easy grin that made her feel at ease. Tess thought his patients must like him. He exhibited none of the distant coldness too many doctors adopted as a professional demeanor. Even her father had been a bit brusque, and frequently too serious to invite open conversation. Eventually they both sat in the back office space, which was separated by a thin wall partition and privacy curtain from the single small examining room Tess glimpsed as
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they walked through. Dr. Lloyd brought out a file folder, and Tess sat in a chair forced too close to his desk for comfort in the tiny office. She sipped her coffee and delayed asking her questions, by inviting his. "Why did you want to talk to me, Dr. Lloyd?" He shook his head. "That can wait. First, I understand you have questions about your father. Joe Latimer called me last night. He said you didn't know your dad had MS?" "MS." She repeated the acronym, wondering why her mother had never mentioned it to her. Of all the things she'd kept from Tess over the years, that made the least sense of all. "Multiple sclerosis." She nodded. "I know what MS is, and the sheriff mentioned a wheelchair, but I didn't know my father was ill. I only learned about it after I got here last night--from Joe. My family never mentioned his illness." Dr. Lloyd's face registered deepening concern. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I had the impression you and your family kept in touch." He placed the folder on the desk and focused his attention on her. "We exchanged cards and letters, and occasional phone calls, but I haven't actually seen them in years. My parents didn't want to see me." Dr. Lloyd's troubled look intensified, but he said nothing. "You see, something happened, when I was seventeen." There was a kind acceptance in his silence that made her feel comfortable enough to explain. "There was an auto accident that I was blamed for. I'd stayed home that night to baby-sit Spence. He was six years old. They said later I took off in my mother's car and smashed it into a shop at the bottom of the first hill heading into town. I was injured, and they found alcohol and barbiturates in my blood. I don't think my parents ever forgave me, or believed me about it." She stopped because of the look on his face. Dr. Lloyd's pale eyes remained intent on her. "What do you say happened?" "I don't remember. I recall baking cookies and playing a board game with Spence, then getting him ready for bed. I don't remember getting into the car, or having an accident. I wouldn't have gotten drunk at all, let alone while I was watching Spence. I didn't use drugs--I never have--and I would never have gone off and left him alone in the house. My parents believed I did, though. They had . . . mistaken ideas, about my friends and me. They thought we were getting into trouble, but we weren't, and I've never understood why they thought that. I kept up my grades, and I had a part-time job. I wasn't an angel, but I was basically a pretty good kid. I'd stopped going to church, and I know that upset my mother. My newer friends from my art classes wore clothing my parents didn't like. We explored different spiritual paths. My boyfriend at the time was a Pagan, and he gave me a pentacle necklace. My mother found it in my room along with some books he'd loaned me to read, and, well, she had a fit. She and I had a horrible
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fight, and my parents made me stop seeing him. That was a few days before my accident." After forcing her to break up with Alan Stewart, her parents had set her up with Trent Cambridge, a local banker's son whose father her father knew socially. Tess recalled Trent with a shudder, and she avoided that memory, focusing on the night of her accident. "Something happened, that night, something I don't remember. I was unconscious for a couple of days, in the hospital. When I woke up, I learned the sheriff believed I was at fault for the accident. My parents did too, I'm sure. They sent me to live with my greataunt in Seattle, after I got out of the hospital, and I stayed with her until I left for college. They kept me away. I've always suspected my parents were afraid to have me around Spence after that." Tess went on. "That's not why I'm here, Dr. Lloyd. There are things I need to know, about my family's recent lives. Can you tell me how long my father had MS, and do you know when he retired?" Dr. Lloyd was silent, his gaze now on the far wall, a frown darkening his pale blue eyes. He seemed to have withdrawn from her. "You don't want to talk to me now," Tess said, her old feelings of rejection coming to the fore, easily taking hold of her. She started to get up. "Wait. Yes, of course I want to talk to you, Tess. I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone else for a minute. I had no idea there was anything like this--mistrust, or the distance you describe--in your parents' relationship with you. They spoke of you affectionately. I understand your need to gain some closure." He took wire framed eyeglasses from his pocket and put them on. Then he read from the file he'd opened on the desk in front of him earlier. "Let's see when your father first reported symptoms." He read off the date, a day in April, the spring following her accident. Tess had been living with her great-aunt in Seattle then. Aunt Christine had been her father's aunt, surely she'd known about his diagnosis. Tess blinked tears from her eyes, but they kept coming. Dr. Lloyd put the file and his glasses aside and produced a box of tissues. He remained silent, letting her cry. "Dr. Lloyd," she finally said, folding her hands in her lap. "My name is Peter." When she hesitated, he added, "Your parents called me Peter. Your father wasn't only a patient. Jim was a friend, and a source of sound advice. I arrived in Wilder with a lot of misconceptions about this type of medical practice, and I shared several dinners at their house with your parents and brother, while Jim brought me up to speed." "Peter, when did my father retire?"
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He consulted the folder again. "I helped him with the documentation. He applied for disability retirement four years ago." "Can you think of any reason why they would keep all of this from me? Should I know about anything else? Could they have intended not to worry me?" She felt disgusted with herself. It seemed self-centered to worry about what they'd thought about her all these years, or what they'd kept from her, more than about the course of her father's disease. But her father was gone now. She dried her tears and sat up straighter. "I've always hoped they had other reasons, besides the ones I've suspected." Dr. Lloyd shook his head. "I don't know of anything else. I was your father's primary care physician. You might want to talk to the specialist he was seeing." He gave her the name and phone number. Tess thanked him. "You had something you wanted to ask me." Dr. Lloyd's eyebrows bunched together. He hesitated. "Your father didn't call you the day before his accident?" "No. It was usually my mother who called, but she hadn't recently. I'd called her a couple weeks earlier. Why?" "Your dad told me during our last meeting, the day before he was killed, that he planned to contact you, to approach you about a problem here. I hesitate to ask you now. This is a bad time for you, but it is pressing." "Tell me. I can always say no, right?" She was curious to know what her father would've wanted her help with. "He was going to ask if you'd be willing to talk to someone about Trent Cambridge's attack on you eleven years ago." Tess went rigid, and felt a sudden, intense need to escape. "No--" She stood up. "No. I can't tell you anything about that." She left his cramped office, moving quickly out to the waiting room. He got up and followed her. A sheriff's car pulled up out front as Tess reached the front waiting room. She paused, looking out the front window. A uniformed officer got out of the car. Tess turned back to Dr. Lloyd. "Why? Tell me why." She glanced outside again. The officer appeared to look in the front window at her, then leaned against the car, his back to the office. "Is that who you wanted me to talk to?" Tess gestured at the uniformed man. Dr. Lloyd stood with his hands on his hips, looking resigned. "Duane Prescott, yes. He's investigating the sexual assault of a teenage girl a few days ago." Tess turned fully around to face the doctor. "By Trent?"
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"He's not sure, but he thinks so. She says so. Tess, I'm sorry I've upset you with this. I thought maybe you could help. Your father seemed to think you might be willing, but I realize this is the worst time to remind you of that." "There's nothing I can tell him, in any case." "Are you certain? They don't have anything but the victim's word to go on about who assaulted her. No DNA evidence." "They wouldn't--" Tess froze, looking at Dr. Lloyd's eyes but not seeing them. Remembering. She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, I truly am, but I have to go." She went outside, where she looked only briefly in the deputy's direction. He met her look and nodded. Tess started up the sidewalk in the opposite direction. She hazarded another glance back as she continued in the direction of the county building, and she saw the deputy had walked over to talk to Dr. Lloyd, who stood outside on the sidewalk. Tess walked past her car, and entered the county building a short ways up the block. She told the woman at the desk that she needed information about the Hunter family's accident. She identified herself, and the woman said Sheriff Kendall would speak to her himself. Tess sat on a hard wooden bench in the outer office and fidgeted for the next two minutes. Her dad had wanted her to talk to the sheriff about Trent. Why? Her dad hadn't believed her about anything, back then, including her accident. Now she was about to talk to the sheriff about her dad's death in an accident. "It's too late," she murmured, and realized she was repeating Joe Latimer's words to her. It's too late now, Tess. Tess dreaded walking into the sheriff's office. If he planned to ask her about Trent, she wasn't prepared to answer. How could she think about that when she still hadn't digested the news about her family, still hadn't convinced herself they were gone, hadn't begun to fathom the depths of her grief? Sheriff Kendall came out of his office wearing a grim expression. He appeared to be in his mid fifties. He greeted Tess in a subdued manner, clearly conscious of her loss. He led her into his office and offered her coffee, which she refused. She wanted to get down to business, to get this ordeal over with. His office was larger than the doctor's, but stark and cold, with a frosted window reinforced with chicken wire and no blinds. Tess found herself gazing at the blind window, feeling as trapped as she had in her office in L.A. As it turned out, Sheriff Kendall didn't mention Trent Cambridge at all. He spoke only of the accident that had killed Tess's family. He told her there was unusual tire damage and his department was still investigating the crash. "When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned the possibility that ice caused the crash?"
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He shook his head. "It was a fair assumption to start with, and there was patchy ice on some roads that morning, but the witness who saw the van go over reported no ice on that stretch of road. It had been plowed the afternoon before, and the van left skid marks. We found damage to one tire--" "There was a witness? Were other cars involved?" He shook his head. "The witness saw the van roll down the bank from a distance away. She also spotted a snowmobile in the area, but whoever was riding it hasn't come forward. They may not have seen anything. These things can happen in an instant." He went on to describe the exact location of the accident, a curve Tess easily recognized from his description. She shivered involuntarily. "Can you explain the tire damage?" "It appears to be from a sharp object. It made a clean cut in the sidewall of the tire. The forensics people have it now. We didn't find any hazard in the road." "If it wasn't an accident, then it was. . ." Tess hesitated, trying to think of another alternative. "Foul play." Sheriff Kendall said this with a concerned frown. "For now we're considering all possibilities, including that of an accident. We haven't drawn any conclusion yet. We're still examining the evidence." "You mean murder?" She had trouble wrapping her thoughts around that notion. Who would want to kill the three of them? Why? He nodded. "That's one possibility." "Who was driving?" Her question brought back a flood of memories for Tess, and they seemed to hang in the air. The sheriff's silence made Tess imagine for a moment that he remembered, too, but if he did remember another accident, eleven years ago, it would've been hundreds of accidents ago for him. Surely it wasn't as memorable to him as it was to Tess, who'd been blamed for it. The strange thing was, she knew less about her own accident than she knew about the one that killed her family. Sheriff Kendall's expression grew more grim. "Your brother Spence was driving. I'm truly sorry for your loss, Ms. Hunter." He gave her the information she needed to have her family's remains moved to a mortuary. "We'll release their personal effects to you as soon as we're finished with them." Tess got up to leave, then turned to the sheriff at the door. "Who was the witness?" "A neighbor. Rose Latimer." ###
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Tess went from the sheriff's office to the mortuary, where she arranged for her family to be cremated and scheduled a simple memorial service for Thursday. At the newspaper office she wrote up an obituary. The paper was a Sunday weekly, so it wouldn't appear prior to the funeral. She had a lot of calls to make, to ensure people knew about the service. Tess returned to her rental car, still parked in front of Dr. Lloyd's office. The doctor came out to get into his truck, carrying the tackle box she'd seen earlier. He nodded to her. "I thought I'd fit some fishing in while the sun's out." His expression reminded her of a boy sneaking out of school midday. She paused beside his truck. "Peter, you mentioned you ate dinner with my family a few times. Do you have any idea who might be a good choice to offer a eulogy? The funeral director suggested it should be someone who was close to all of them." The doctor sobered and thought for only a few seconds before he said, "What about Joe Latimer? He was a frequent visitor at the house, and his sister Rose was a good friend of your mother's." Chapter 4 Tess returned to her parents' house and went to the kitchen, where she built up the fire and then set to work, cooking. Her trip to Wilder had left her feeling fragmented, and cooking had often made her feel whole again. She hoped it would do the same for her now. She needed to use up the perishables in the refrigerator, and there was enough food stored away in the pantry and freezer to feed the entire family for a year. That had always been her mother's way, Tess recalled. She'd spent many a hot summer day helping her mother can and freeze the abundance of fruit and vegetables from their home garden and from local growers. Tess had no idea what she would do with all this food before closing up the house and leaving Cedar Creek. With her family gone there was nothing to hold her here. She kneaded whole grain dough for rolls and left it to rise on the warm counter near the stove, where she started a pot of chicken stock simmering. Then she sat down to review the food on hand and decide what to prepare for a gathering here after the funeral. Midmorning she made a quick call to Paige, to ensure all was going well at the office. "Harry and I plan to fly up for the funeral. What's the name of the resort you were going to stay at?" "Stoneway, but you can stay here with me. There's plenty of room." Tess had sensed a distance widening between herself and Paige, ever since Tess had announced her decision to take a leave of absence. She wanted to bridge it somehow. She'd lost her family. She couldn't stand to lose her best friend at the same time.
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"We don't want to impose, but it will only be one night." "Stay with me, please. When we were in college you and your family put me up plenty of times for the holidays," Tess reminded her. After the call, Tess adjusted the seasonings in the chicken stock and left it on the lowest heat to simmer. Finally she ventured upstairs and looked through those rooms. She'd avoided coming up here at all since her arrival last night. The bedroom Tess had occupied as a teenager remained as she'd left it, furnished in pale ivory, with eyelet ruffles on the sheets and curtains, and old fading art posters on the cream colored walls. Old sketches she'd drawn as a girl were still tacked up on the wall above the small desk. She turned around, wondering why her parents had left the bedroom this way, when they'd so often given her the impression they wanted to forget her. Why had they allowed her to have the largest room in the house in the first place? It was immense, taking up the entire space over the two-car garage. Tess opened drawers, knowing they'd be empty because she'd taken all her things with her when she left home. But inside the night table she found two necklaces, and she held them up to the light pouring through the windows. One delicate silver chain held a Celtic cross her mother had given her, and the other held a pentacle given to her by a boy named Alan Stewart, whom she'd dated shortly before she left home. Both were sterling silver, simple in design and close to the same size. Seeing them brought back one of the worst arguments she'd ever had with her mother, and Tess hurriedly put them away, but on a second impulse she removed them again from the drawer and held onto them. She turned to look around the room. She didn't want anyone else to sleep here. She felt a need to reclaim this space where she'd first begun to grow into adulthood, to learn her own likes and dislikes, her own way of being. It was here she'd first dipped a brush in paint. This big room had served as a sanctuary where she could explore her creativity during unbroken hours of solitude. She looked at the big windows facing east, north, and west, and the entire wall of built-in cabinets, and she thought what a nice studio the room would make. The light was good, there was plenty of storage, and a large work table. She could use the typing table from her father's study for her laptop computer. Next she went into Spence's room, where the sports-theme wallpaper reminded her of the boy Spence had been when Tess was seventeen. At six, he'd been emerging from babyhood, eager to grow up. Tess sat on the bed and looked around at the room where she'd read to Spence that night, eleven years ago. Her memories of that evening converged. Tess sat on her brother's bed and wept, remembering their last game, the last cookies, and the last bedtime stories they'd shared.
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Their parents had gone out with friends. Her mother had left a note on the refrigerator with the phone number. Tess was to stay home and baby-sit Spence, who'd turned six that summer. As soon as they finished eating dinner and cleaning up, Tess got out his favorite board game, and she and Spence played it there at the kitchen table. As promised and expected on a night the two of them spent at home together, Tess baked cookies. Chocolate chip, Spence's favorite. It was a hot August night, so she kept all the kitchen windows and back door open, with only the old-fashioned, wooden screen door closed against the night and mosquitoes, so the oven wouldn't overheat the house. Alan Stewart called. He was the boy Tess had been dating, until her parents had pressured her to break up with him a few days earlier. He wanted to know if she'd changed her mind and would see him. She told him no, and ended the call, while an impatient Spence waited to continue their game. Then a girl from her mother's church called, inviting Tess to a social event. Tess wasn't interested and again ended the call as soon as she could. Her other friends all knew she was babysitting tonight and didn't want to be distracted. Spence was growing fast, and Tess planned to go away to college the following year. She had decided to savor this evening, make it an oasis of childhood for both of them. So they played, and she baked. She sipped lemonade, and she let Spence eat warm cookies with a glass of milk while they played his game. He got chocolate all over his face, and had a milk moustache, and he was laughing and prattling happily because he'd won the game, when they finally went upstairs for his bath and pajamas. Once he was in bed Tess read to him. Then there were new smells and sounds, white sheets, people in white lab coats. Pain. A bright light in her eyes, and her mother crying. "Why? Why would you go off and leave Spence all alone in the house? What were you thinking, driving off like that? You could've been killed. You nearly killed yourself. Do you understand?" Tess didn't understand her mother's words, or how she'd wound up in the hospital. Her mother broke down in tears, and Tess didn't understand much else she said that day. Later a sheriff's deputy questioned Tess about an accident he said she'd had with her mother's car. Tess didn't remember an accident. She didn't remember taking her mother's car anywhere. She only remembered reading to Spence, baking him cookies, putting him to bed. Her father told her she'd had alcohol and barbiturates in her blood. He told her she'd taken her mother's car and driven it through the front of the Masons' flower shop at the bottom of the hill. She'd been unconscious for two days. She'd nearly been killed. He said Tess had gone off and left Spence alone in the house. Tess didn't believe any of it. Why would she do that?
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Her father demanded to know what she was thinking, what was going on with her. Why she'd stayed out all night two nights before she left Spence at home alone. That was when she finally told him about Trent Cambridge trying to rape her and her narrow escape that other night. That night she remembered with crystal clarity. Her father listened, silent. He nodded as she spoke, but didn't say another word. Neither of her parents spoke to her much after that. They were quiet, somber, reserved. They took her home and told her to rest. They spoke in low voices in another room. School was supposed to start that week, but they didn't encourage her to get ready. Instead they called Aunt Christine, who drove down from Seattle and packed Tess, her clothing, books, and art supplies back to Seattle with her. Tess had spent her senior year of high school and the following summer in Seattle. She'd stayed with Aunt Christine until she went away to college in New York the following fall. She hadn't set foot in her parents' house or seen her family since the summer of her accident. ### Tess decided to use her mother's bedroom and give Harry the downstairs guestroom her father had recently occupied. Paige would sleep up here in Spence's room. Keeping Tess's old bedroom available to her as a studio posed a minor problem, since it was the only room with an empty closet and dresser, and she dreaded the task of going through her family's things to accommodate guests. Tess spent the next few minutes transferring her luggage up to her mother's room. She then packed the contents of her brother's and her father's dressers and closets into empty cartons she found folded in the garage. She marked each box according to where its contents came from. Instead of going carefully through their things and making decisions about what to do with them, she blindly packed items into boxes, unwilling to make decisions or examine them today. In the midst of this task, while cleaning out the bedside tables in her father's room downstairs, Tess found some of her mother's personal things tucked away in the nightstand on the side of the bed farthest from the door. Tess paused for the first time in her packing and looked at them. Her mother had spent time here, possibly had slept here every night. Her father would've needed the downstairs room because of his need for a wheelchair. Finally Tess packed her mother's things away. She didn't pause until she came to the bookcase above the old writing desk near her mother's bedroom door. The titles on the top shelf included a set of Jane Austen novels, two Thomas Hardy novels, and a book of poems by William Wordsworth. A row of smaller, clothbound volumes on the bottom shelf caught Tess's eye. They were all covered with the same printed cloth, in different colors. Tess took one out for a closer look. It was a journal, filled with her mother's handwriting. Each journal was marked with a different year inside the front cover and on the outside binding. They were arranged on the shelf by year.
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They more than filled the bottom shelf, with a few stacked horizontally on top of the others. Tess opened the first one, and glimpsed her mother's name in the first line of the inscription on the front page: "To my beloved daughter Cathy on your wedding day, from your mother, Sara." Tess's mother Cathy had mentioned these journals to her when Tess was younger. Tess's maternal grandmother had given them to Tess's mother as a wedding gift. Tess counted twenty-eight of the journals on the shelf, all filled with her mother's writing. Her parents had been married less than twenty-nine years. There was no book with this year's date on the shelf, so Tess went to the bedside and opened her mother's nighttable drawers. She found more of the books tucked inside the bottom drawer, but they were all blank. There hadn't been one among her mother's things in the downstairs bedroom, either. The current year's journal was missing. Tess returned to the bookcase and the completed journals. They'd obviously been important to her mother. She was curious to know what her mother might have written about her in these books. They might contain answers to why her parents had kept her away. She wanted desperately to believe it wasn't because they thought her guilty of abandoning Spence on the night of her accident, or because they suspected she'd been using drugs, or was otherwise unfit to be around her younger brother any longer. Tess found the first journal Cathy Hunter had started after she married, and placed it on the bed, intending to start reading it that night. ### For the remainder of Tuesday morning Tess wore a grim track through her parents' address book, making phone calls to tell her family's friends and acquaintances about the funeral service on Thursday. She sat at the kitchen counter, and took deep breaths between calls to regain composure and steel her nerve. At first she had thought the task would grow easier as she went along, but each person she called expressed either shock at the news, or grief of their own. They related memories that fed the intensity of hers, until Tess felt drained. When she came to the listing for the Latimers, Tess considered making a quick, polite request for Joe Latimer to offer a eulogy, but she remembered his words last night, and she dreaded speaking to him again about her family. She marked the page and continued with her other calls, saving that one for last. By afternoon Tess was emotionally exhausted, and she still hadn't called the Latimers. She opened the address book to their number, and looked at it for a minute. Finally she dialed--and was infinitely relieved when a woman answered. "Rose Latimer? This is Tess Hunter." "Oh, Tess. I'm so sorry about what's happened. I was planning to call you to ask if you need help with anything. The funeral arrangements, or--?"
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"Thank you. I'm actually calling to tell you about the service and to ask Joe if he would be willing to offer a eulogy." "Oh. Well, I'm sure he won't mind, but of course you'll have to ask him. I'll have him call you when he gets in. He should've been home half an hour ago for lunch." "He works near home?" "He has a veterinary clinic in town." When he was a boy, Joe Latimer had always had his dog following after him, tail wagging lazily, and its mouth open in a smiling expression. He'd had pets of all kinds. Once he'd allowed Tess to hold a baby rabbit, instructing her how to grasp it so it didn't jump away. She smiled as she recalled that tiny rabbit, sitting warm and furry in her hand. She supposed it made sense that Joe had become a veterinarian. "When is the funeral?" Rose's voice brought Tess back to the present. She told her the time and place, and her plans for a buffet lunch at the house afterward. "Let me bring the beverages. I can contact people you may not know, about the services." "That would be a great help. Thank you." Tess was stunned by Rose's warmth, after Joe's demeanor last night and his puzzling behavior this morning. Tess tried to remember what she could about Rose Latimer, but it had been Rose's brother Joseph who'd commanded Tess's attention when they were young. Tess recalled his kiss earlier, and her face warmed with the memory--then with a different emotion, as she pictured him kissing Jessica Laine less than a minute later. Rose was saying, "Your mother was a good friend. I'm going to miss her a lot." "I understand you saw the accident happen." Rose was silent for a few seconds. "I was on my way to work, at the school. I was some distance away, but I saw the van go over. I used my cell phone to call for help." After another pause she said in a quivering voice, "Yesterday was the worst day of my life. Joe's too. He came along right afterward, on his way to work, and he helped get them out." After the call, Tess felt restless. She checked her chicken stock, still simmering on the stove, and then decided to take a short walk outside. She pulled on a jacket at the front door. The sun had slipped behind clouds in the early afternoon, and now the wind was rising. The fresh, vigorous feel and scent to the air energized Tess and reminded her of snowstorms she'd experienced growing up in these mountains. She used to love to hear the wind sing and bustle in the trees as it did now. Her mother had once told her that trees gave the wind its voice.
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Tess walked briskly down to the mailbox at the end of the long driveway and pulled out the mail. There were ads, bills, envelopes that she guessed contained sympathy cards, and one business size envelope with no stamp and no forwarding or return address. The envelope was sealed, but completely blank. It caught her interest at once, because whoever left it had driven some distance to place it in the box without ringing the doorbell--unless they'd come up this morning while she was in Wilder. Tess stood by the mailbox and opened the blank envelope. She pulled out a single sheet of paper folded in thirds, a typed letter without salutation, signature or date. "You don't know how lucky you are to find success in your business at such a young age. A magazine and cookbooks. How nice for you. But that can change. If you don't leave town and pay $50,000 cash, newspapers and television stations all over the state will learn that the publisher of Treasured Home ran off and left her baby brother alone while she ploughed her mother's car into the florist's shop. They'll learn about the drugs and alcohol, and we'll see how successful you feel then. Don't go to the police, and don't ignore this! Start packing your bags and putting together the cash. Instructions for payment will follow." Tess stood there in the cold wind, and read and reread the letter, trying to understand, to think what to do about it. She wanted to wad it up, throw it away and pretend she'd ever seen it. She wanted to ignore it. Who would do this? Who here knew about her business? She hadn't mentioned it to Angie Norwood during their brief phone calls over the past few days. The only people in Cedar Creek she'd ever spoken to about it were her family. She recalled a phone call from her mother after she'd seen Tess's first slender, plumcolored cookbook in a Sacramento bookstore, with Tess's watercolor painting of a threetiered dessert tray crammed with pastries reproduced on the dust jacket. Cathy Hunter had purchased the book for herself and called Tess the same evening. "Recipes and illustrations by Tess Hunter. I can't tell you how proud I was when I saw a whole stack of those books in that store. I wanted to tell everyone in the store that my daughter wrote them. They're beautiful. We're so proud of you, Tess." Tess's eyes filled as she remembered her mother's words. The day of that call had been the first time in years that she'd thought either of her parents could be proud of her. Now she felt empty, and incapable of doing anything but going to sleep. She trudged through the snow, up the driveway, and into the house. She returned to the kitchen and went numbly through the motions of preparing food for the funeral gathering. She didn't know what else to do. She couldn't do anything about this letter, now, except go to the police, which the blackmailer had warned against. She thought of calling Paige and Harry, since it was a threat to them as well. Instead Tess worked in her mother's kitchen. Cooking had always been a balm for Tess, as it had been for her mother. She tried to lose herself in that familiar activity, but it didn't work the same magic for her this afternoon that it had in the past. A dark, onerous cloud hung over everything. As if the weight of her grief hadn't been enough, now fresh fear for her business, friends, and employees--in addition to a new and profound loneliness--weighed her spirits.
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Late that afternoon snow fell. Chapter 5 Early in the evening Tess chopped leeks and sorrel from her mother's supply in the refrigerator and used them, along with her chicken stock, to make soup. She added potatoes and let them soften enough to mash with a spoon. Finally she added cream, and chopped roast chicken from the refrigerator. She adjusted the seasonings as the thickened mixture reheated to serving temperature. Then she ladled herself a bowl of the soup and sat at the kitchen table to eat it with a hot buttered roll and a simple lettuce salad, attempting to regain some semblance of peace from the silent, solitary meal. After dinner she bathed and put on her warmest nightgown, then crawled under the electric blanket in the upstairs bedroom that had been her mother's. She picked up her mother's first journal, and soon found herself caught up in events that had occurred years before her earliest memories, seeing them vividly from her mother's point of view. She read of her own birth and her mother's first blissful, if tiring, days of parenthood. The early worries and joys of watching an infant take her first steps into childhood unfolded with the turn of the pages. It touched Tess deeply to realize those loving words had been written about her. Could this be the same woman who years later made transparent excuses to keep her daughter from coming home for semester breaks and holidays? Tess dozed off while reading, and the ringing of the doorbell wakened her. The bedside lamp was still on, and the journal she'd been reading lay open beside her where she'd dropped it. It was eight o'clock. She got up and put on her fleece robe and slippers and hurried down to answer the persistent ringing, brushing hair back from her face with her fingers as she went. Tess left the chain lock fastened and inched the door open. "Who is it?" she called against a gust of freezing air that nearly compelled her to swallow her words. Joe Latimer peered through the opening at her. "It's Joe. May I come in?" Tess slid the chain off the door and opened it. Joe game in with a gust of cold, and quickly closed the door. "Whew! Thanks. It's a mess out there." He turned around, took in Tess's appearance--her robe and fuzzy slippers--and grinned. "Uh-oh. I thought you city people stayed up later than this." Snow clung to his hair and eyebrows, quickly melting in the warmer air of the house. "I guess I'm still a country girl at heart." Tess watched him coolly, hiding her bafflement. Why had he come here on a cold, snowy night, when he'd made it plain he thought badly of her? Why had he kissed her this morning?
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"I don't suppose you have a fire going?" Joe glanced toward the darkened living room, then turned his gaze on her again. The warmth in his eyes was an embrace. They held her attention, and Tess took a moment to register what he'd said. "A fire. No, but--here, you'd better take these things off." Without thinking she reached up and took his knitted hat, while he removed his gloves. He smiled again at her familiar action, then unzipped his jacket, and sat down on the nearest living room chair to unlace his boots. "Do you mind if I make us both some hot chocolate?" Tess stared at him curiously. Then she looked down at his hat in her hand. He took it from her with a quick "Thanks," and strode toward the kitchen in his socks, carrying his boots. Tess followed. Joe placed his boots, hat and gloves on the family room hearth and started to add wood to the coals. "Let me do that," Tess said, and took over. When she turned away from the fire a minute later, Joe already had the milk heating, and as Tess watched he took cocoa and mugs out of the cabinets. He was obviously as familiar with the kitchen as she was. Tess sat in the old rocking chair near the fireplace to watch him. He looked up with a sheepish grin. "I got used to making myself at home here. I never did get to eat dinner tonight. I was hungry, and I found myself pulling into your driveway out of habit, thinking about your mom." Tess stood up. "You haven't eaten? I have soup and some bread I can warm for you." He watched her with a half smile lighting his eyes as she came over and joined him in the kitchen. She took out the soup and started it warming alongside the pan of milk and cocoa, then placed a couple of the whole-grain rolls in the toaster oven. Tess returned to the center island stove to find him still watching her. He abruptly looked away and gave the pan in front of him a stir. "What brings you out in this weather?" she said. "I had an emergency call this afternoon. I was on my way home. Visibility got bad below the turnoff to your place, and the heater's out in my truck. I used to visit your folks a lot. Sorry, it looks as if you were asleep." "I was reading in bed." A glance at him told her he didn't believe her. "I may have dozed a little." He gave her a slow, knowing smile. "You took a long time to answer." She grinned back at him. "Okay, I was sound asleep at eight o'clock. Stop looking so smug about it."
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He held her gaze for several seconds. "I was always fascinated by the way your eyes lighten in color when you smile. They're a pale blue now, a shade lighter than your robe." He continued to study her. "You look a lot like your mom." "Do I?" Tess's voice faltered. "That photo of you on the living room mantle deceived me. It made me picture this cool, savvy business woman in a suit, someone I've never met and never wanted to." His look turned solemn. "You know, I miss them a lot." She nodded and said nothing. She wanted to ask him about her family, but she was afraid he'd rebuke her again, or she wouldn't like the answers. Neither of them spoke again until the soup, bread, and hot chocolate were ready. Joe carried mugs over to the table for both of them while Tess ladled out his soup and arranged warm rolls on a plate with a pat of butter. She placed the food in front of him, sat down and picked up her mug. "This smells wonderful." He took a spoonful of the soup and made a pleased sound in his throat, his eyes half-closed. "It's potato leek with roast chicken." She sipped her cocoa and watched him take another spoonful, then quickly bite into the warm buttered roll. Joe was so intent on his food, she wondered if he'd missed lunch as well as dinner. Tess continued to sip her cocoa. Once she raised her eyes to find him studying her. Her heart gave a lurch as their eyes met. "Watch your cocoa," Joe said as she tilted it. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. Tess shifted her gaze to the fire, unable to still her thoughts with him watching her like that. His attention made something come alive in her, something that felt restless to answer. She was wide awake now. He gestured at his empty bowl as he put down his spoon. "I needed that. Did your mom make the soup?" "No, I did. With her roasted chicken." "That's right, you write cookbooks." He continued eating, finishing his second roll. She couldn't help noticing that he knew about her cookbooks, as did the blackmailer, but Joe hadn't lived here in Cedar Creek when she was hurt in that accident. Did he know about it? "You never married." He didn't ask it, he stated it. "No." "Too busy with your career?"
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Tess shrugged. "There's always been time to date. No one held my interest for long." "You had a crush on me for years. Has your attention span shortened since then?" Tess smiled. "I thought that was my secret. Was I so transparent?" "Remember how you used to follow me around, back then? You never guessed how enchanted I was by that. Other boys were falling for girls their own age, but I thought you were the dreamiest thing I'd ever seen. There, your eyes lit up again." She had paused, watching him. "I was thinking how it would have thrilled me, back then, to hear you say that." "I don't suppose it would give you the same thrill now." "I hardly know you now. Besides, we were children." Why did you kiss me today? Tess wanted to ask it, but she didn't. They finished in silence. Tess took their dishes to the sink while Joe went to the fire to put on his boots. He sat in the rocking chair to lace them while Tess washed dishes. She brought a sponge over to wipe off the stove, where she faced in his direction. Joe had his boots on now and stood watching her work. He moved closer. "How long will you stay?" His green eyes glinted at her. "I don't know. There are a lot of things to settle. I'd planned to spend a few weeks here, before I received the news." His glance slid away. He nodded toward the window. "It's coming down out there. At least I don't have much farther to go. Are you all right alone here?" "I'm fine, Joe. I live alone. I'm used to it." She turned and picked up the dish towel. She wasn't used to living in this particular empty house, surrounded by memories of her childhood, with no family here to share them, but she wasn't about to admit that to him. Then she thought of the blackmail letter. She felt a great need to tell someone about that, but she'd decided to wait until after the funeral. She wouldn't let the blackmailer drive her away before then. He turned to face her. "Do you need help making final arrangements?" "Um, yes. Did Rose mention I phoned your house earlier?" He shook his head. "I haven't been home since morning." "I called to ask if you would give the eulogy." His eyes darkened, but he nodded. "I have a lot I'd like to share about them."
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Tess sighed, realizing what a weight that simple yet critical detail had been for her today. "I don't know how to thank you." He looked reluctant, but said, "There is one thing. Your father had a cane I gave him. It was a gift, an antique made of hardwood, with a brass handle. I'd like to have that, as a keepsake." Tess had to think for a minute. With all the packing she'd done of her family's things she'd never considered that her father might have used a cane. "I haven't seen it, but the sheriff still has their belongings from the accident." She still called it an accident, unable to get her mind to contain the idea that it might be murder. She recalled the sheriff had mentioned her father's wheelchair was found among the wreckage. "Would he have had the cane and his wheelchair with him?" Joe nodded. "He took the cane everywhere. He hated the wheelchair, and used it as little as possible. I bought him that cane because he detested anything that looked like it came from a medical supply." Joe was frowning now. He looked away for a moment. "Consider it yours. Tell Rose, too, if there's anything she wants, to let me know. I don't know what I'll do with all their things." "If you need help going through them, let us know." He faced her again with a pained look. Then he came around in front of the stove and faced her. "You know, Tess, I had my reasons for feeling the anger I expressed last night. I loved your family. I thought you did too, when you were a girl. I've never understood why you stayed away." She considered telling him why, but if he loved them as he said he did, she doubted he'd accept what she had to say. "It was between my parents and me." He looked incredulous. "What about Spence? He missed you. Did something between your parents and you have to affect him as well?" "I didn't want it to." Joe leaned forward and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes and spoke quietly. "But it did, Tess." "I can't change that now. I wish I could." Tears stung her eyes, tears she didn't want to shed in his presence. "Didn't you ever want to see him? Didn't you miss them?" "Of course I did." Tears stung her eyes. "How do you think I felt when--" Her throat constricted. She didn't want to cry with him so close, watching her this way. She cleared her throat. "I had reasons for not visiting, reasons I don't want to go into. That's in the past. Isn't it bad enough they're gone? Do we have to go over every wrong thing that ever happened?" Tess blinked back her tears and raised her chin to meet his gaze.
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"I've made you cry. I'm sorry." Joe raised a hand to her chin, touched it lightly. His touch, his nearness somehow warmed and comforted her. He looked into her eyes, his own brilliant, searching. His expression changed, softened. He moved closer, until his lips touched hers. She drew in her breath, and started to move out of his grasp, but then her hands met the hard expanse of his chest, and his lips touched hers, warm and supple. She let her lips linger on his for a few seconds, on the edge of surrendering in a single-minded response, before she backed away. Joe stood there looking after her, wearing a dark gaze that Tess couldn't read. Then he moved. "Goodnight." He uttered this in a low, raspy voice with an abrupt nod of his head, and he strode out of the kitchen. Tess followed and watched him pull on his jacket at the door. "Drive carefully," she said as he opened it. He glanced back at her, nodded again, and closed the door quickly behind him. Her lips still tingled from his kiss as Tess turned away. She touched them and listened to the sound of his truck as he started it. Upstairs, Tess nestled under the warm bed covers, picked up her mother's second journal, and opened it to where she'd left off. It took some time and effort to get her mind off Joe Latimer so she could concentrate on reading, but she eventually did with the help of her worries about the blackmail letter, which nagged at her with greater intensity as the hours passed. There was a chance her mother's journals could help solve that mystery, once she worked her way into the more recent ones. She was determined to read them in sequential order, to get a fix on when her parents had begun to change in their feelings, suspicions, and eventually their behavior toward Tess. She read late into the night, skimming over everyday events and seasonal celebrations. She skipped over the humorous account of how she'd lost her first tooth. She knew these things. She could go back to them later. She wanted to get to the bottom of her questions about her family. She wanted to have answers for Joe if he asked again. Finally, shortly after one in the morning, Tess put down the eighth volume and switched off the bedside lamp. As she lay awake, her thoughts kept returning to the last page she'd read. It was her mother's account of how seven-year-old Tess followed young Joe Latimer everywhere and never stopped talking about what Joseph had said, or what Joseph had done. Her mother described Joe as a "tall, lanky, black-haired boy with thoughtful green eyes. He never seems to tire of Tess tagging after him, and he brought her a bunch of daisies this morning. Tess's first flowers from a beau?" Tess tossed and turned that night, her dreams full of the boy Joseph Latimer, whom she'd sought out so persistently as a child.
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Later in the night her dreams changed. She ran barefoot down a road, away from a car that pursued her. The faster she tried to run, the slower she moved. Tess wanted to escape into the woods, but she couldn't make her legs move in that direction. Finally she stood still in the middle of the road, unable to move at all, while the headlights bore down on her. Closer. Tess woke with a start. Had that been a noise? An engine? She didn't hear anything now, but something had roused her completely from sleep a second ago. She sat up and listened, sensing a stillness in the old house that seemed remarkable, considering all the strange noises it had made to keep her awake her first night here. She listened for a few minutes, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. Still feeling anxious, restless, she attempted to reason herself into relaxing. The dream must have wakened her. Then another sound caught her attention, and adrenaline sent her heart racing. This sound had come from downstairs. Tess crept out of bed and listened, mouth open, as she made her way out to the stairs. She stood on the upstairs landing and waited. It was a rattle, like that of a doorknob. The front door. Someone was fiddling with the door lock. Trying to pick it? A scream rose in her throat, threatening to let loose along with her panic. She put a hand over her mouth. Whatever the person wanted, there was no good reason she could think of that they'd try to pick her lock in the middle of the night rather than use the doorbell. She had to do something. She switched on the light over the stairs, then continued down the stairs into the foyer, where she switched on the foyer and porch lights with one swipe of her hand across the wall panel. The rattle of the doorknob stopped abruptly. Then Tess was certain she heard movement on the floorboards of the front porch. She pictured someone darting down the porch steps. Silence, except for Tess's heartbeat pulsing in her ears as she imagined a figure running off through the snow out there, but she couldn't be sure unless she saw them. She turned off the two inside lights. Leaving the porch light on, she went into the living room and parted the drapes a crack to peer outside. A gust of wind whined in the trees or the chimney. Branches scraped the roof of the porch. The dark shapes of the trees outside danced in their snow blankets, shrouded by falling snow. The front door shook with the gust, and the doorknob rattled. Snow spattered against the big living room window in front of her, and Tess backed away from it with a startled cry. Finally she laughed, and berated herself for panicking at the wind. She returned upstairs to bed. She'd settled down again, gotten her pillow back into the right shape, her head
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into the right depression on the pillow, when she heard another noise that wasn't the wind. Somewhere outside, down near the road or up on the hill beyond the driveway, an engine started and whined away into the night, too quickly for her to get a handle on the sound. It was drowned out by another gust of wind. Chapter 6 Paige, Tess and Harry rode to the funeral together in Paige's rental car on Thursday. The mortuary in Wilder stood at the nearer end of town. When they arrived, Tess spotted Joe Latimer standing on the steps beside a woman, who thankfully wasn't Jessica Laine. Joe spoke to the woman, and she waved discreetly to Tess. Moments later Joe introduced her as his sister Rose. Rose Latimer was tall, brown-haired, and unremarkable except for her eyes, which were the same dark green and gold as Joe's. She wore a long beige coat, open over a sedate forest green dress of the type Tess's mother used to wear to church. She was a lot thinner than Tess remembered, when she was eventually able to recall her as a young adult. Rose had been two years ahead of Tess and Angie in school, and Tess recalled with an inner cringe the time Angie had made fun of Rose's round shape. Tess hoped Rose didn't remember--but how did one forget an experience like that? Tess introduced Paige and Harry. A smile transformed Rose's face, and she was suddenly beautiful. The transformation caused Tess to take pause. Joe held the door for all of them and they went inside. Tess sat through the ordeal of the funeral, conscious of the sea of people seated in the large room. She hadn't expected so many. The minister from her mother's church officiated, and Joe offered the eulogy, which ended too soon, leaving the gathering in a silence broken only by sniffles and low murmurs. At the conclusion of the service, the minister announced on Tess's behalf that those in attendance were invited back to the house for a buffet lunch. Tess returned to the house with Paige and Harry, where she went directly to the kitchen, to stress over the amount of food she'd prepared. Harry pitched in, helping to set the food out in the dining room. They heard cars drive up, and Tess was filled with unaccountable panic at the prospect of running out of food within minutes, when Paige answered a knock at the back door. Joe and Rose Latimer had arrived with the beverages, as promised, and more food, which they carried in the back door. Lots of food, Tess realized as she watched them carry in one dish after another from Rose's car. Stunned by the sudden and miraculous abundance, Tess stammered her thanks as the first guests arrived and filtered into the living and dining rooms. Rose and Joe set to work, arranging the buffet as though Tess had given them detailed instructions, when she hadn't said a word. They turned to find Tess watching them, dumbfounded by their generosity, and Joe said simply, "We realized you wouldn't know how many people to expect. Rose wanted to help."
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"Thank goodness for you and Rose." It was all Tess had time to say. More guests were arriving, and she turned her attention to them. Within a short time two dozen or more people were gathered in the big country kitchen and family room, where they'd visited with Tess's mother Cathy numerous times through the years. "This was her favorite room," Tess heard someone say. "Tess," a familiar voice called, and Tess turned as Angie crossed the living room to hug her tightly. They spent a few minutes talking, and Tess promised to come out to Stoneway to spend time with Angie while she was in town. Then another guest approached Tess with a story about her father. Another to talk about something her brother had done. This went on, and finally Paige brought Tess a plate of food and suggested she sit for a few minutes. Tess's head spun with her own memories, mingled with the kind words and memories of her guests, and she suddenly wanted some time alone to cry. She hadn't realized the funeral would have this impact on her, and she told Paige so. Paige sat in a corner with her to eat and they kept their backs to the crowd, allowing the other people to fade into the background for a few minutes. Tess was in the dining room a short time later when a male voice beside her said, "I'm so sorry, Tess." She turned, and took a moment to realize who the man was. "Alan." Tess hugged him tightly. This was Alan Stewart, whom she'd dated for several months before she left home that last summer. "I wasn't sure you'd recognize me." Alan had been a skinny eighteen year old. Now his shoulders were broader, and he was taller than Tess remembered. His hairline was receding, and he had given up the immature goatee he'd worn back then along with the black clothing. Today he wore a neat gray suit and tie. He was clean shaven, with short brown hair. His face, once babyish, now appealed with a kind of reasonable, adult sensitivity. His hazel eyes lit up as he regarded Tess. "I'm relieved to see you here, looking so well. I wish it wasn't under these circumstances. Will you be in town long?" Tess nodded. "I'm taking a leave of absence from my business. I'd planned to be here next week, and I was going to stay through New Years. I haven't changed that plan, it's just changed itself, dramatically. It's hard to take it all in." She found herself dipping toward tears again, and shook them off. "How are you doing, Alan? Are you painting?" Tess and Alan had met in art class, during high school, and they, along with a few other students who'd considered themselves budding artists, had formed a tightly knit group, encouraging each other and learning together. "I spent a few years working as a graphic artist, doing some web design on the side. Now I work part time at a local print shop, in addition to my metal sculpture and painting.
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I've opened a gallery in town. You should come see it while you're here. Did you ever open your bakery? And more importantly, do you still paint?" "No bakery, but I have been painting. In fact, I'm turning my old bedroom upstairs into a studio to work in while I'm here." "You'll have to come see my gallery. Laura Reynolds is one of the contributing artists. So is Ed Greene. They're a married couple now, you know. I'm renting the space for the gallery from Joe Latimer. Laura has a bookkeeping service there, too. It's an old Victorian house where Joe used to have his clinic before he moved into his new building across the street. Jessica Laine is opening a bath products boutique there. Only I think she's in it for fun, and to have an excuse to be in contact with Joe on a regular basis. Joe's sister Rose is opening a bookstore. Here are Laura and Ed now." Tess turned alongside him to greet her old friends. Ed Greene and Laura, who was now his wife, had been a part of their informal artists' circle when they were teenagers. Both of them greeted Tess enthusiastically, subdued at first over her loss. Soon they were deep in conversation about their artwork. Laura, Ed and Alan were excited at the prospect of having Tess in town for at least a month, and they all agreed she needed to get some of her work into Alan's gallery. Angie Norwood joined them, and turned the conversation with Alan and Ed to skiing and hunting. Angie's attention suddenly focused on a teenage girl who stood in the buffet line, and Angie went over to bring the girl, her plate half full, over to meet Tess. The girl looked reluctant, troubled. "Tess, this is Karen Jensen, Spence's girlfriend. Karen worked for me at Stoneway until a few days ago." To Karen, Angie added, "Tess and I were best friends when we were girls." Karen sent Angie a sideways glance, but greeted Tess with her hand extended. "Karen, I'm so sorry to have to meet you like this." Tess hadn't known Spence had a girlfriend. The girl nodded shyly and turned away. Tess thought she was headed back to the buffet, but instead she brought two adults over and introduced them to Tess as her parents, Margaret and Hank Jensen. "Spence's sister, Tess." Karen appeared close to tears. A few minutes later Angie had to leave, to see to her guests at Stoneway, and Tess excused herself to walk her out. "I'm sorry we didn't get to talk more, Angie." "You'll have to come out and spend some time with us, like we planned, before you leave. You will, won't you?" Angie turned at the door to face Tess. "Of course."
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"I have some old photos I'm dying to show you. Oh, and my brother Kevin's birthday party is in a few days. I'm sure he'll want you to be there. Remember Kevin?" She made Tess promise to attend the party. After Angie left, Tess remained in the foyer for a minute, savoring the moment to herself before heading back to be with her guests. She overheard two women talking in the living room, just the other side of the partial wall that divided the living room from the foyer where Tess stood. "I don't see any alcohol here," the first woman said, arguing with her companion. "No drugs, no weird religious symbols, not even a stick of incense." "Of course you wouldn't, after that funeral, with the minister from their church and all," the second woman said. "She hasn't lived in this house for years, but if she'd been here when the accident that killed them all happened, you'd wonder if she was the one driving. Nearly killed herself that other time. They were sued because of it. She tried to blame it on someone else, but the drugs were in her blood. I think she may have served time in jail, or a juvenile detention center. They said she was staying with relatives, but if so why didn't she come back to visit, after she was an adult? She left and never came back, until now." Tess walked away in the other direction, through the study, to avoid seeing who it was who said those things. She knew they were talking about her and her accident, the reason she thought her parents had sent her away. It crossed Tess's mind that it might be one of her guests today who was blackmailing her. She stood in the study, stunned for a moment by the idea that they might have the nerve to come here, eat, and pretend to grieve with her, while they harbored such diabolical motives. Tess returned to the kitchen and visited with the people there, trying to forget, trying not to wonder whether everyone here had heard gossip about her, trying not to believe she had an enemy here among all her family's friends. By late afternoon, nearly everyone had gone home. The weather had turned stormy again, and people wanted to get home before driving became difficult. Rose Latimer collected her clean, empty dishes, and Joe helped her load them into her car. Tess hugged Rose gratefully, thanking her again for her help. Then Paige went to the door with Harry. Both had their suitcases in hand. "Thank you both for being here. I wish you could stay another night." Tess wanted to beg them to. She hadn't mentioned her prowler of two nights ago to them, or the blackmail letter, afraid they'd insist she return to L.A.--as if that were a safer place. Now she dreaded sleeping alone in this house. Paige shook her head. "We'd better get to a lower elevation before we get snowed in here." She didn't miss Tess's look of disappointment. She hugged her tightly and gave her a sisterly kiss. "Take care, sweetie."
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Harry followed with a hug and kiss for Tess as well. "We've a magazine to get to the printer, but we'll call you soon. Take care." Then he was out the door behind Paige. Tess held the door, noting theirs was the last car remaining out front, besides her rental. She closed the door, locked it, and went to the kitchen to check the back door. She locked it, and looked around the kitchen. Rose and Paige had cleaned so well that Tess couldn't tell anyone had eaten a meal here today. Leftovers were packed neatly into the refrigerator, so Tess wouldn't have to cook tonight. A stack of firewood was freshly heaped on the floor near the fireplace. Tess was about to turn off the kitchen light when she heard a thump at the back door. She hesitated to open it, but when she peered out the window there was Joe, with another load of wood, his breath steaming. She let him in and he deposited the wood on top of the stack already there. Tess remembered now that he'd parked out back when he arrived with Rose and the food and beverages. "With a storm coming you can't afford to be without enough fuel in the house. The wall heaters aren't enough when the cold sets in." He brushed his hands and sleeves off, watching Tess. "I overheard you say you're staying on through New Years." He smiled mildly. "I'm glad to hear it." "I can't thank you and Rose enough, for all your help today, and for the words you shared at the service." "Will you be all right here tonight?" He seemed genuinely concerned, which touched her. She paused, wanting more than anything to ask him to stay a little longer, but she feared allowing herself to learn to want his company any more than she already did--and she only now realized how much she did. "I'll be fine." "Storms don't frighten you?" "Storms don't frighten me. I find them exciting. Honestly, I'll be fine." She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I'm sure you will." He buttoned his overcoat. "I'd better get home before this gets any worse. It's blowing up already out there. Remember to lock up." With a curt goodnight he went out the back door. Tess moved through the rest of the house, closing up, drawing curtains against drafts. She stopped at the upstairs hall window and listened to the wind in the trees behind the house, their branches rattling against the roof. She looked down when a bright light made her realize that Joe was still there, seated in his truck behind the house, starting his engine and turning on his headlights. He let the engine warm up for a minute before he eased the truck around to the driveway.
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On her return to the foyer downstairs, to turn on the front porch light, Tess noticed an envelope on the hall table addressed to her. Her name was typed on the outside. If not for the shape of the envelope she would've expected it to be another sympathy card, but this was a long business envelope, like the blank one she'd found in the mailbox yesterday. She opened it and unfolded the single sheet of paper it contained. It was another blackmail letter, a printed copy, identical to the first. Tess stared at the page, wanting to laugh, to believe it was someone's idea of a sick joke, a joke they felt they needed to repeat because no one had laughed the first time. Yet she knew this was serious. She remembered the gossips she'd overhead hours earlier, and felt sure everyone in town was aware she'd been blamed for that accident years ago, although she'd never been charged. If word of who she was in the publishing world got out, along with the story that she'd left her little brother at home alone that night, what would it do to her business? What would it do to Paige and Harry, and all their employees? Tess carried this second blackmail letter over to the sofa and sat down to think. She got up, after a few minutes, and went to the study for paper and a pen. She sat at her father's desk and made a list of everyone she remembered being here this afternoon. One of those people had left this letter. She realized after a few minutes that she didn't know all their names. She would need to ask Rose and Joe to tell her who some of the guests had been. Meanwhile the wind howled outside, and the snow didn't fall, but drove against the windows. Eventually Tess went upstairs and got ready for bed. Again she felt exhausted, and she wondered if this was depression, seeping into her bones, cold, slogging and hopeless. That would be natural, a part of the grieving process. She shrugged. This was more than grief, it was grief combined with blackmail, grief combined with the possibility of murder. She'd never felt so alone in her life. She resolved to call Paige and Harry tomorrow, give them a heads up about this letter, and offer to dissolve her part in the partnership right now. Somehow she'd make things right. Tonight it would be enough to sleep through this storm. She wondered again if her mother's journals would have an answer to this blackmail question. Would she find information in them about her accident? Something Tess herself didn't remember? Something her parents learned after Tess went to live in Seattle with her aunt? Then her thoughts turned to Dr. Lloyd's words, to his mention of her father planning to call her. Tess searched through her mother's journals again for the current year's book. Of course it was futile. Nothing had changed. It still wasn't there. Chapter 7 Friday morning revealed a world layered with a new accumulation of white. Snow had fallen all night long, the storm easing up toward dawn. Now the sky was clearing, and
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the sun reflected off snow, blinding Tess when she first opened the west-facing front door. Snow had drifted onto the porch and steps, so she had to take a broom out with her and sweep it out of her path. She shoveled the walkway and driveway. Then she watched the snow removal service's red truck labor up the road with a snowplow on the front of it. She was heading back into the house when she again noticed the smooth, virgin blanket of snow on the front yard. Tess couldn't help herself, it filled her with the same urge she'd felt as a girl when faced with new snow. She ran over and plopped down in the cold stuff, and moved her arms and legs to make a snow angel. She got up and repeated her action twice more, once on each side of the asphalt walkway. Three snow angels soon graced the yard, beckoning her back to the house, where she changed clothes and ate a hot breakfast. When it came time to plan her day, all Tess could think about were the blackmail letters. She took out her list of the people who'd come to the house yesterday and looked it over. She needed more information before she broke the news to Paige and Harry. She dialed the number for the Latimers, but got their answering machine. Frustrated, Tess drove into town. She planned to visit Joe at his veterinary clinic and request his help with her list. On the drive, she slowed as she approached the curve in the road where her family's van had gone over. There was a pullout across the road from the spot, on the inside of the curve. On an impulse, Tess parked there, got out, and crossed over to the outside curve, which edged a steep drop off into a ravine filled with rocks, brush and trees, under the fresh covering of new snow. She had to watch her footing, because snow had been piled at the side of the road by the snowplow, and she couldn't tell for sure where the shoulder ended and the drop off began, beneath the dirty ridges of cleared snow. She kept her distance, and peered over into the ravine where the van had rolled into a stand of trees, way down there near a creek bed. It was a long way down. She'd been told the van had rolled a few times before it hit the trees and rocks below. She wondered if her father's missing cane was somewhere down there, buried under snow. If it was wood, it could have been thrown from the wreckage and landed among tree branches where it had been virtually invisible to the sheriff's people. Tess found herself shivering as she visualized the crash scene. She scrambled back into the car, cranked up the heater, and drove on into town. Cedar Creek's main street was a fantasy scene this morning. Everything was frosted with new snow, and Tess drove through with a feeling of being inside the pages of a fairy tale. She'd joked, while living in L.A., about shoveling snow and the cold, and the long winters in a mountain climate, while secretly she'd missed it. Downtown Cedar Creek was quiet. It was early for shoppers to be out. Tess slowed in front of a big white Victorian house, and spotted a sign across the street for Cedar Creek Animal Hospital, which must be Joe Latimer's veterinary clinic. She parked nearby, got out and looked around. Joe's office was still closed. Across the street from it, the old Victorian's front yard sported a crude, unfinished plywood sign.
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"Sierra Lights--Fine Arts Gallery L. R. Greene Bookkeeping Coming Soon: The Boudoir--Fine Bath Products Fabled Rose--Books and Gifts Retail, Business, Restaurant Space Available 555-2392" Maybe she could get a look at Alan's gallery before Joe arrived at his office. She crossed the street to the majestic old house and tried the front door. It opened with the jingle of a string of bells that hung inside the door. "Be right with you!" a voice called from somewhere inside. It sounded like Joe. "Take your time," Tess called. "Tess?" Joe appeared in the far doorway, clothed in a plaid shirt and faded, paintspotted jeans. "You're out early this morning." "A lot of city people rise early too, you know." He came toward her with a claw hammer in one hand, his smile wide. "Are you remodeling?" She nodded at the hammer. He glanced at his hammer. "I'm building display shelves for Jessica's shop. The Boudoir," he added with a wry grin. Tess recalled Jessica's mention of her cousin Trent, and she shivered. "Cold out, after L.A., isn't it? You're not used to this." "I'm fine. How many businesses are you going to house here?" "So far, there are four. Alan Stewart's gallery, Jessica's bath products shop, Rose's books and gifts, and Laura Greene's bookkeeping service, but we have space for at least five more. I thought I'd leased the kitchen and dining space for a restaurant, about two weeks ago, but that fell through." As he said this, he headed toward the kitchen and dining area, and she followed. It was a large, old-fashioned kitchen, partly refitted for commercial use. The dining room and parlor had been opened up to make room for seating. "This used to be a veterinary office?" Tess noted the crown molding, wainscoting, and hardwood floors that must be vintage oak. The decorative detail on the arched entrance to the parlor was exquisite, the work of craftsmen of an earlier era. Joe's gaze moved affectionately over the rooms. "I used to live here, along with my business. It took up the front rooms on the other side, and the back of the first floor. I lived upstairs, but used this as my kitchen. It wasn't ideal for my purposes, and it's too
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big for one person to live in, which is why I built the new place. This is perfect for several small businesses. Laura and Alan are already open for trade." Tess turned to him purposefully. "Is Rose here at her shop this morning?" "No, she's been working weekday mornings at the high school library. She'll be here later, if you try back. Did you need something?" "I'm hoping you and she can help me recall the names of everyone who attended the buffet at my house yesterday." Tess pulled her list out of her purse. "I've made this list of everyone I remember being there, but I didn't know some of the names, and I'm sure I've left some out." Joe said nothing. He appeared to wait for a reason she would want to do this. She handed him the list and he scanned it, nodding his head a couple of times. Then he reached into his breast pocket for a pen, and went over to the kitchen counter to add some names. Finally he handed the list back to her. "That's all I remember. Why the list?" It was an innocent question, but Tess wasn't prepared to explain. She hadn't spoken to Paige and Harry yet about the threat. She felt she owed it to them to let them know before she told anyone else. "Tess! Hey, you made it." Alan Stewart stopped in the front hall, looking into the kitchen. He came in, hugged Tess, and kissed her cheek. "I knew you'd come see the place. Let me show you around. The gallery is upstairs." He took her hand and drew her out of the room, saying over his shoulder, "Did you ask her yet, Joe?" "No," Joe replied. Alan started up the stairs, with Tess in tow. "Ask me what?" "If you want to lease his kitchen for your bakery." "What?" She stopped and stared at Alan. "That's what you always wanted, isn't it?" "But I--" "You used to say you wanted to come back here after college and open a bakery. Did you ever change your mind?" "Yes. I mean, no. I--" Tess realized she'd never changed her mind at all. It had been changed for her, by her parents, by the magazine, by circumstances beyond her control. Or had they been beyond her control? Ever since hearing of the crash that killed her family she'd been asking herself why she hadn't come back to visit years ago, regardless
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of what her parents wanted. What would they have done, thrown her out of the house? At least then she would've known how they felt about her. She wouldn't have this big, empty, gnawing question left unanswered by the suddenness of their deaths. "Well which is it?" Alan grinned at her. She studied his face. "You look so happy. You didn't used to smile all the time like this. You must love putting your gallery together." "I'm having the time of my life. Come on." Alan continued up the stairs. "It's risky, finally putting all my ideas to the test, investing my savings. Still, I had to do this sooner or later, or die wondering if I could've made it work." Tess felt an odd sensation and looked over her shoulder. Joe Latimer stood at the foot of the stairs watching them, his face a mask of--what? Anger? Bitterness? She couldn't read it, and Alan was above her on the stairs, urging her to follow. The gallery took up most of the second floor, including the hallway and balcony overlooking the entrance below. The walls weren't filled yet, but Alan was steadily working his way in that direction. "A lot of what's here so far is Laura's, Ed's and my work, but I'm finding other artists in the area. Rose's shop is on this floor too. We thought artwork and books fit well together. The Boudoir, Jessica's bath products shop, is up in the garret. You'll have to meet Jessica later. I think she rises at the crack of noon." He chuckled. "I've already met her." "Yeah? Why don't you take a look around here, while I go down and talk to Joe for a minute. He looked about to spit nails a minute ago. I'd better make sure my rent check didn't bounce or something." Tess wound her way through the gallery, following the walls. There were pieces on display in the walkways as well, out of the path but viewable from all sides. These were mostly metal sculptures of plants, their leaves shaped into receptacles for water fountains. They must be Alan's work. Tess took it all in, but her mind kept returning to Alan's mention of a bakery. Her bakery. She couldn't get it off her mind. Finally, when she'd absorbed as much of the artwork as she could in one visit, she ventured back down to the kitchen, interrupting a joke between the two men, who both laughed. Alan appeared to be having more fun, of the two. Joe's laughter was forced, and he didn't look all that happy. He glanced at Tess as she entered, and he sobered at once. He'd been leaning on the counter, but now he stood straight, facing the other way, appearing not to want to meet her gaze. "Well?" Alan entreated Tess's opinion, looking eager, hopeful. "What do you think?" "It's incredible. You have something special here. It's a beautiful house, Joe. What are you going to call it?"
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Alan looked at Joe. "We were discussing that." "Why don't you hold a contest? Have people submit name ideas. Are you going to have a grand opening?" Joe turned and looked at her. "Are you interested in leasing the kitchen and dining space for a bakery? Alan seems to think you'll jump at the chance." She looked at Alan, but Joe was the one putting the pressure on. She felt the weight of his gaze. His deep green eyes were lit up like a forest on fire. "I'll consider it, but I'm only on a leave of absence. I'm not making any decisions now, just--well--drifting a bit, getting back in touch with myself." "You sound like a teenager, talking like that." Joe turned away. "When you decide to be serious, give me a call." He stalked out the front door. Alan watched Tess. "What is it with you and him?" Tess looked after Joe, wondering the same thing. "He's grieving too, you know. He was closer to my family than I was in recent years." She couldn't believe she was making excuses for him, but it was true he'd been closer recently. Maybe that explained his behavior. "Why did you stay away so long?" Alan asked the question quietly, with no accusation in his tone. His eyes flickered. Tess wasn't sure she wanted to answer, or could. She headed for the front exit, and Alan walked beside her. "You know what you could do. It would be a great help to us, and give you a handle on what you want. Sell baked goods at our grand opening. That would help you gauge what it would be like to run the business, as well as what the customer traffic would be. Decide what you want to do after that. Maybe you can get Joe to give you an ultra-shortterm lease for the opening. He doesn't have any new prospects for the space, that I know of. That might be why he's acting so peeved at the moment. He's not normally a wet blanket. Why don't we go ask him what he thinks. He's right across the street." "Not this morning, Alan. I have some things I need to take care of. Let me give it some thought." ### At home, Tess placed her call to Paige and Harry. She got them on the conference phone and read the blackmail letter to them. "Oh no," Paige groaned as soon as Tess finished reading it. "Look, I have some savings. Twenty thousand or so--"
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"Paige. Wait. We're not going to pay them." "What do you mean? It says you have to pay them and leave, or they'll go to the press. They haven't left you any option, Tess." "They're breaking the law! Extortion is a crime. I'm not going to pay them. I'm not going to leave, either, until I'm ready. I've received two of these letters now. I'm taking them to the sheriff. I've made a list of everyone who was here yesterday when the second one was left." "What if they go to the press as soon as they find out you've reported it? It could ruin us. Harry, aren't you going to say anything?" "I'm afraid I agree with Tess. If you pay this person, they'll simply come back later and want more. Then what do you do? It does no good to try to save our business from bad press, if we're going to the poor house by way of blackmail. There's not a lot we can do aside from go to the police. It's not a perfect answer, but there it is." "There's nothing we can do, once they go to the press," Paige argued. "Then the damage will be done and there's no undoing it. Then we're dead!" Tess thought she could hear, between the lines of Paige's words, that Tess was responsible for this. "I'm sorry." Tess's past shouldn't affect their business this way, whether she was at fault or not. "You know, Tess," Paige said, "if I could reach through the phone line I'd strangle you right now. Don't you dare apologize for this. It's not your fault!" "I'm going to the sheriff as soon as I hang up." "No. Wait. Let's give this more thought. They said they'd contact you again, with instructions. Give us time to think this through. Maybe we'll come up with an answer." Paige said those last words with much more conviction than Tess felt. Tess hung up the phone, frustrated. Who was doing this? Why? She felt certain there was more to it than an opportunistic grapple for money. It was someone who knew her, someone with an axe to grind. Could it be someone who resented the damage from her accident? The owners of the flower shop? The women gossiping yesterday had mentioned a lawsuit, but Tess's parents had never told her about any lawsuit. Had there been one? Tess had no memory of her accident, and too little knowledge of the events after it. She still felt certain she would never have done what the sheriff and her parents and all the gossips thought she had done that night. What had really happened? What would happen to her business, her magazine, if word got out? What could the sheriff do about it?
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She could only think of one thing to do if the blackmailer went to the press, and that was for her to leave their partnership. She'd been considering doing that, but she didn't want to be forced out this way. What about the next business she chose to enter into? Would that be jeopardized as well by these kinds of threats? She wanted to clear this up once and for all, but how? The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Spence's girlfriend Karen Jensen stood on the doorstep, with her hand raised to press the bell again. She smiled mildly at Tess. Karen was curvy, for a sixteen-year-old, slightly plump. She wore her thick, chestnut brown hair long, with feathered bangs surrounding her lustrous brown eyes and long lashes. "Hi. Do you remember me?" "Of course. Come in, Karen. How are you?" Karen followed Tess into the living room, where she paused, looking around. "Are you staying on here at the house?" "Until the end of the year. I've been planning to get back in touch with you, to ask if you'd like to have anything of Spence's." Karen's eyes widened, and she glanced around the room. She shook her head with a sad expression. "I can't think of anything right now." She reminded Tess alarmingly of how she herself had felt a few hours ago, when she'd peered over the side of the road at the crash scene--traumatized and lost. Tess urged Karen to sit down, and Tess took the armchair next to the sofa. "How long had you and my brother been dating?" "About two years, but we weren't really dating at first. My mom wouldn't let me until I turned sixteen. We hung out together, and saw each other at school activities. We've known each other all our lives. We just started dating this past summer." "Well, give some thought to whether you want any of his things, and let's make a date for you to come over for lunch one day next week, or after the holiday, when we're both better recovered from the shock." Karen nodded. "I'd like that. I came to ask if you found a key that Spence was going to return to Stoneway for me." "A key? No, but I haven't gone through his things yet. I'll keep a lookout for it. Do you need it back right away?" Karen chewed her lower lip. They both heard a vehicle park outside. Tess recognized the sound of Joe's truck, and mused over the fact that she knew it as she got up. "Excuse me."
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Joe started talking as soon as she opened the door. "I'll only take a minute of your time. I want to give you something to think about." He glanced back toward the driveway where Karen's car was parked. "You have company?" Now he looked at Tess. "Karen Jensen is here." Tess moved aside and invited him in. Karen got up to leave. Joe greeted her in a relaxed and friendly manner, while he'd been nothing but tense with Tess a few seconds ago. Karen said hi to him and continued to the door. "I'll look for the key, and I'll call you," Tess told her as she left. Then she invited Joe into the living room, but he refused. "I'll only be a minute. I came to make you an offer. Alan mentioned his idea of letting you bake for the grand opening as a trial for a possible business. He told me you're thinking of moving back here." Joe looked away for several seconds. "I'm not putting this well. I want you to consider doing that. Staying, leasing the bakery--er, restaurant space. If you decide you want to lease the place, I'll do whatever modifications you need, to make it work. I'd like to do business with you." He met her gaze, his own eyes stormy with tension. Tess wasn't so sure Joe would feel the same desire to do business with her if he knew her current business was being threatened by blackmail over her past, but she nodded. "I will consider it. When is your opening?" "In two weeks. We wanted to open the weekend after Thanksgiving, to catch the first holiday shoppers, but we're running behind, so it will be the following weekend. It would mean a lot to us to have you there, Tess. I asked Rose to come by later and talk to you about the plans for the opening. Is that all right?" "Yes, of course." After all, exploring her dreams was the whole reason she'd decided to come here, before tragedy intervened. "Good." Joe held out his hand. Tess shook it. He was keeping his distance now. She wondered at the change. Tess stood on the porch and watched him drive away. As he was turning out of the driveway, another car turned in past him and pulled up out front. A blue sedan. Alan Stewart got out and waved at Joe, a big smile on his face as he approached the door, and Tess. "I wanted to come with Joe, to help persuade you, but he was on his way home for lunch. I forgot to send these with him. They're just a couple of flyers for you to take a look at." He handed her a few sheets of paper, with an ad for the grand opening of his gallery printed on them. Tess thanked him, and couldn't help seeing his glance toward the door. He was hoping she'd invite him in, but she wanted a little time alone.
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The phone rang, its sound muffled by the door. "Um--I have to get that. It's business." She nodded over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob. "Oh. No problem. I need to get back. I'll . . . see you soon." Alan turned back toward his car with another wave, no longer smiling, and Tess hurried inside to answer the phone. Chapter 8 Tess made two more snow angels that afternoon, one on either side of the front walkway, in an attempt to release tension. A car turned into the driveway while she lay on the ground pushing snow around. She felt foolish, but she finished the second snow angel before she stood up to find Rose Latimer leaning against her car, smiling at her. Rose waved. "That's a fine troupe of snow angels." "I suppose it looks silly, but I needed to unwind." Tess looked down at her clothes caked with snow and lifted her hands. "Now I need to change. Come on in." She led the way into the house, and headed for the stairs. "Make yourself at home. I'll only be a minute." "No problem, and I like your idea of how to unwind," Rose called after her. When Tess returned downstairs she found Rose in the kitchen. The fire had been fed, and Rose was carrying the teapot over to the table, along with a plate of cookies. "I hope you don't mind, I made us some tea." "Not at all. It will warm me up." Tess brought cups over to the table and sat down. "I want to thank you again for helping with the food yesterday. I don't know what I would have done without you and your brother. I was a bit lost over the whole business. I'm still--" "In shock? So are we. We were so close to your family. Your mother was a great source of support to me. I miss them a lot." Rose poured the tea. "Joe asked me to bring you up to speed on our plans for our grand opening." "First tell me about your bookstore." "It's a book and gift shop, actually. Books, small gift items, greeting cards. Books are my passion, but I'm told they don't bring in a lot of trade these days, so the other items are there to entice people to take a walk past the books." "I love books. I can't walk into a bookstore without spending money." Rose laughed. "I'm hoping there are lots of your kind here, more than I know about. You know, I have three of your cookbooks, and I subscribe to your magazine. What are you working on now?" Tess sighed and sipped her tea. "I'm not working at all right now. I'm trying to decide what to do with the rest of my life. I may leave the magazine and book business
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altogether. I don't know yet. Right now I'm taking it easy, reading Mom's journals, trying to figure out the mysteries of my own family." Rose took this in with a nod. "She mentioned to me that she kept journals. You might learn new things about her." "That's what I'm hoping, but she wrote mostly about us--the family. She didn't talk about herself when I was growing up. Did she to you?" "Not much. Cathy was one of those people who focused on others, to the exclusion of herself." Tess nodded. Yet someone may have killed her. Why was that? "How could anyone not love her?" "Why--" Rose stopped, but her face asked the question for her. "Why didn't I visit?" Tess wasn't sure she wanted to break the spell for Rose, any more than she wanted to for Joe. They believed her mother was no less than a constant source of support for her family, as she had apparently been to Rose. Tess shook her head. "I won't go into that. I don't know all the reasons, for certain, and my parents aren't here to tell their side of the story. Do you know about my accident, eleven years ago?" Rose nodded, looking down at her teacup. "Yes, I'd heard about it, but I hate gossip." It was all she said, and it made Tess wonder. "So you didn't hear about it from my family. What did you hear about it, and from whom?" "I don't want to repeat it." Rose wore a look of distaste. Tess dropped the subject, frustrated, wondering how she would ever figure out who was blackmailing her. The culprit wasn't likely to volunteer the information, but who would? She took a cookie and offered the plate to Rose. Rose stiffened. "No, none for me, thanks." "Would you look at a list of the guests who were here after the funeral yesterday, and tell me if I've left anyone out? I already showed it to your brother." Tess got up and retrieved the list. Rose looked it over, and added a few names, mostly people who attended the same church she and Tess's mother had. She shook her head eventually. "I don't recall anyone else. What's the list for?" "It's--to jog my memory. Tell me about the grand opening." Tess and Rose spent hours, first talking about the grand opening of Joe's business center, and then visiting. Rose brought up the subject of Tess's artwork in her
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cookbooks. "I've always envied that kind of creative talent. Of course I see cooking as an art, and I do love to cook." Rose glanced at Tess with longing in her expression. Then she smiled shyly. Tess nodded. "Any pursuit can be artwork. It's embracing what you're doing, and forgetting yourself completely while you do it. I've seen people make a dance out of directing traffic." She took Rose upstairs to show her what she was doing with her old bedroom, turning it into a studio to work in while she was here. "Oh, did you get to see Alan Stewart's gallery this morning?" Rose hesitated then. "Your mother told me you used to date him." It amazed Tess that her mother would share that information with Rose. Alan was the boy her mother had insisted she break up with, right before her parents set her up on her ill-fated date with Trent Cambridge. "How interesting." Rose picked up the two silver necklaces, the Celtic cross and pentacle, which Tess had left on the typing table beside her laptop. Rose blushed as she glanced at Tess and put them down. Tess thought she could see the wheels turning in Rose's mind. Was she wondering about the pentacle? Did she understand its significance? Tess waited for her questions, but Rose never asked them. "Your mother and I went to the same church," she said quietly, and that was all. Tess took a deep breath and didn't reply. Rose was different from anyone she'd ever come across, but Tess understood shyness in a way that more extroverted people likely couldn't, and she found that she liked Joe's quiet, understated sister, in spite of her awkward pauses and unspoken questions. "It was a gift," Tess told Rose. "The points of the pentacle represent earth, air, fire, water, and spirit, to Pagans. At least that's my understanding." Rose nodded, silently taking in her words. "My mother gave me the cross." "She gave me one just like it." Tess felt a powerful tug of envy, in that instant, for Rose and her closeness to Tess's mother. She hated the feeling, and immediately wanted to turn it around. "Rose, Joe told me about a cane he gave my father, that he'd like to have as a keepsake. Would you like anything of my mother's? Let me know, because I have no idea what I'll do with all their things. I'm overwhelmed by the prospect of cleaning out this house, if I decide to sell it, and I--" Rose turned abruptly with a gasp and a surprised look that made Tess pause midsentence. "What is it?"
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"I--that's kind of you. I'll think about it. I can't think of anything right now. Maybe--" Rose shook her head, blushing again. "Maybe you should wait until after the funeral, until after you have a chance to--" She broke off again and appeared not to know what to say. "Until you have a chance to straighten out all their affairs." Rose looked at the door of the studio then, as if seeking an escape. They were on their way down to the kitchen again when the doorbell rang. Rose looked at her watch. "I should be going. I didn't realize it was so late." Tess opened the front door, and Angie Norwood nodded in the direction of the snow angels. "I see you've been playing in the snow. That's a healthy sign. I was able to get away for a few hours, and I wondered if you could use some company. Oh, hi Rose." Angie's voice took on a note of humor and a look of amusement entered her eyes. Rose greeted Angie quietly and put on her coat, saying she had to go. Angie looked after her as she closed the door. Then she turned to Tess. "What did she want?" "We were visiting." Angie shrugged and clamped her lips shut as if changing her mind about something. "I didn't think you knew her that well." "No, but she and my mother were good friends. Come into the kitchen. I'll make us some fresh tea." "I'd love some coffee." They sat in the kitchen and nibbled at the plate of cookies. The conversation started out slow, as the two women warmed up again after years of separation. It gave Tess an opportunity to take in the physical changes in her former schoolmate. Angie and Tess had been told numerous times when they were girls that they looked like sisters. They looked less so now, but both had blue eyes and dark brown hair. Tess's eyes tended more toward cerulean, while Angie's were aquamarine. Tess's taller, slender frame contrasted with Angie's more robust, athletic build. Tess wore her hair longer, and it waved naturally. Angie's was thicker, and she wore it in a short, straight style that curled under right at her neckline. "Your partners mentioned yesterday that you're on a hiatus." Angie bunched her eyebrows. "How is your magazine doing?" "Oh, it's coming along." Tess regretted that they'd talked about the business at all yesterday, because now she wouldn't be able to discern who'd already known about it and may have left her that first blackmail letter two days earlier. The coffee finished burbling, and Tess got up to pour it. "Angie, do you still hear much gossip about the accident I was hurt in years ago?"
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Angie didn't say anything at first. When Tess sat down and looked at her she shrugged. "It's old news, and most of the people I talk to are from out of town, so they wouldn't know about it. I heard some old biddies talking about it yesterday, comparing it to your family's accident. That was right before I left. Why?" "I heard what must have been the tail end of the same conversation." Angie's eyes flickered. "I was worried you'd overhear and it would upset you." She studied Tess's face. "How are you doing? It has to be some shock, losing your parents and brother all at once." Tess shrugged. "I'm doing about as well as you'd expect." "How are you planning to spend your time here?" "There's plenty of work to do, settling my family's affairs. I'm thinking of helping Joe and Rose with their grand opening, too. Have you seen what they're doing with that old house?" Angie made a face. "They don't know what the hell they're doing. We have two restaurants at Stoneway, and a gift shop. What do they think we need that place for?" "It will be nice to have a bookshop so close, won't it? You're not worried about the competition, are you? I'm thinking about getting involved with it myself. You know how I always used to want to open a bakery here." Angie's eyes opened wide. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to discourage you. They came up with this so suddenly, I don't get the impression they've put much thought into it. I'm not convinced they have a lot of business sense between them. They're sinking a lot of money into inventory and renovations. I guess I've become cynical about such things." Tess had heard from others yesterday that Angie had done a lot of renovations at Stoneway, so this made her wonder. "Is Stoneway doing well?" "It takes up all my time, I barely have a private life anymore, but it's doing well." "So there are no money problems?" Tess had to ask. She hated to, but the blackmail letter weighed on her mind. Angie laughed. "There are always money problems with a business, you know that. Don't get me started. Oh don't look like that. Things are going okay. So you're staying? Maybe for good?" Her eyes were wide with interest. "I don't know. I planned to come here for some quiet time, to think things through. Now I have my family's affairs to settle, and a mystery to boot. I haven't had a chance to think. There's not a lot to hold me here with them gone." "What about old friends?"
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Tess returned Angie's smile. "Old friends are wonderful." "What's the mystery?" Tess regretted that slip. She didn't want to talk about the blackmail letter. She reached for a cookie, but only held it, thinking. "I'm reading through my mother's journals, trying to learn from them why my parents kept me from visiting all those years." "Your mom kept journals?" Tess nodded, looking at the cookie in her hand. "They discouraged me from visiting, you know. They sent me away, after my accident, and they found some excuse or another for me not to visit, whenever I told them I wanted to. It hurt me a lot, when I was younger. Then I guess my skin thickened, or I developed an attitude about it. I made my own life, and let them grow more distant as time went by. I feel as if I hardly knew them in the past few years. I hated that, though, and my surprise visit this year was intended to break through that. I was going to confront them and demand to know why they kept me away. I wanted to know if they thought I abandoned Spence that night, whether they still believed in me at all, after that accident." "You disappeared without a word." Angie's taught voice revealed more than her narrowed eyes. Angie had been hurt as well, and Tess had done that. "Your parents wouldn't tell anyone how to reach you." "I'm sorry I didn't contact you. They sent me away right after my accident, as soon as I got out of the hospital. They didn't want me to come home for the holidays. They were so distant after that, I didn't know about my dad's MS, or that he'd retired. When I was in college, they came up with any excuse they could for me not to visit during breaks or holidays." Angie got up and went to the window. She sighed. "You and I weren't very close that last summer to begin with. I was always busy at Stoneway--and with Granddad while he was sick." Tess had been too busy with her new friends, dreaming about her future, to realize Angie had been lonely and needed support through her grandfather's illness. Angie and Kevin both depended on their grandfather. Their parents were hopeless drug addicts, who'd been living on the streets in Sacramento and had essentially abandoned the two into their grandfather's care when they were children. Few people knew that about them, but Tess had known, and she'd let Angie down when she needed her. "I'm so sorry, Angie. I never meant to hurt you." "That was a long time ago." Angie returned to sit facing Tess. She picked up her coffee mug and reached for a cookie. "How long had it been, since you'd heard from your folks?" "I called them two weeks before the accident, to feel out the situation before the holidays without actually asking them about their plans. For all the good it did. I learned more
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from you than I did from them. Dr. Lloyd thought my father planned to call me, before their accident, which is odd because my dad never did. It was always my mom." "Why did Dr. Lloyd think your dad planned to call you then? I mean, how would he know? Was it about your dad's health?" "It was something to do with Trent Cambridge. Apparently he hasn't reformed." Tess shook her head. "I wouldn't have been able to help them." "Oh, I know about that. Trent's supposed to have raped a teenage girl. I heard there was no evidence though, only her word against his." "Still, the man she's accusing happens to be Trent, whom we both know to have done things like that in the past." Angie shrugged, then looked Tess in the eye and said in a quiet tone, "There was no evidence in your case either. You didn't report it. You didn't tell your parents." Tess puzzled over Angie's words. "I told my parents about it, after my accident. Didn't they ask you about it?" Angie wore a blank look. "Angie, didn't my parents ever ask you about Trent trying to rape me?" Tess had pleaded with them to ask Angie about it. It had been important to Tess that they believe her. Angie shook her head. "They never mentioned it to me. I didn't know they knew." Tess looked down at the cookie she'd absently crumbled into pieces. She got up, brushed the crumbs into her hand and carried them to the sink. "I was right then. There's not much point in feeling guilty for refusing to talk to the deputy and Dr. Lloyd about it." She wondered if there was any point in continuing through her mother's journals. Angie looked at her watch, then she gathered her jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. "I'd better run. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll set up some time for fun, all right?" Tess followed her to the door and hugged her. Angie closed the door behind her, and Tess looked around the front room, her thoughts returning to that curve in the road where her family's van had gone over. Tess put on her coat and walked down to the road for the mail. It was too cold to stay out, so she just grabbed the stack and hurried back inside to sort through it in the warmth of the living room. She sorted out the ads, sympathy cards, and bills. One envelope had no return address, no postmark, and no stamp. Tess paused, looking at it with trepidation. It was the same type of envelope the other blackmail letters had been in.
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She went to the kitchen and put on her mother's rubber gloves, then took a knife from the drawer to open the envelope. Inside, the letter was folded the same way as the others, and contained the identical threat. It looked like a copy, or a computer laser printout. Now she'd received three identical blackmail letters, three days in a row. Why? Was the blackmailer worried she hadn't found the others? Or did they think she wasn't taking the threat seriously enough? There were still no further instructions, only the promise of more to come. Tess placed the letter inside a plastic bag. She put on her coat and walked down to the mailbox again. It was a roadside box, larger than most, painted white with a red flag and a slot in front for the carrier to push the mail through. Anyone could have come along here and pushed the blackmail letters through the slot, anytime. When she was home she would've heard the car, but there had been at least an hour, this morning, when someone could've come here and not been seen. The driveway, and her rental car, were visible from the road, so they would see whether she was home or not. Who was doing this? Karen, Joe, Alan, Rose, and Angie had each been here, one visitor after the other, since she'd come back from town; but during the time Tess had been in town this morning, anyone could've driven up and placed this in the box. Surely that was when it had happened. The blackmailer wouldn't risk dropping this off when she was home, with all the visitors she'd had today who might see. Suddenly Tess wondered what would happen if her car wasn't visible, if it appeared no one was home. Would the blackmailer reveal him or herself--as they nearly had the other night when she'd heard the noise at her front door? Tess started up the rental car, and moved it around to the back of the house. She took a quick, surreptitious look around the yard, and then the house as she moved around inside, locking up and closing windows for the evening. What if she didn't turn on any lights, or used only small, dim lamps in the places where she needed them, with all the drapes closed? Would the blackmailer think she wasn't home? "I'm going nuts," she murmured with a shake of her head as she finished locking up. "They're driving me nuts." ### Early that evening Tess took a long hot bath by candlelight, trying to settle her thoughts. She realized afterward that all she'd eaten today was breakfast and a cookie, and she'd drunk way too much tea and coffee. She sat at the kitchen table in her robe, the room illuminated only by the light of the fire, and ate some of yesterday's buffet leftovers. Later she returned upstairs, closed the heavy bedroom drapes, and found the journal she'd been reading last night. She plugged in the book light she'd brought with her, turned it on and got into bed. Tess had started out intending to read all her mother's journals in chronological order, but as she reached over to turn off the bedside lamp she knocked the stack of journals
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off the nightstand. She groaned and got out of bed to pick them up. One had fallen open, and the date at the top of the page caught her eye. It had been written the first December she'd lived with Aunt Christine in Seattle, during her senior year of high school. She took that journal, got back into bed, turned off the bedside lamp, and started reading with the book light. "I felt awful telling Tess such a bald-faced lie. I wanted to see her at Christmas, we all did. I pray one day she'll understand. She sounded so disappointed, I can't believe she felt otherwise, and I can't understand why anyone would think so. Jim feels strongly about her staying at Christine's, and going off to college next year. Spence cried when he learned his sister wasn't coming. I couldn't help it, I cried too." Tess gazed at the page for a long time. It wasn't full of information, and it didn't explain why her parents hadn't wanted her to visit, but it somehow made her feel better to know her mother had cared enough to write what she had on this page. She should stop trying to read all these journals in chronological order, and skip ahead to the events that preoccupied her most. A noise outside distracted her. It was the sound of an engine, but not a car or truck. It was something like a lawn mower, maybe a motorcycle. She switched off the book light, then got up and moved the drapes aside, peering out the front bedroom window. A snowmobile, the white glow of its single light flooding over the snow in front of it, circled around on the yard below, as it chopped the snow with its track, obliterating the snow angels Tess had made there today. Tess stood absolutely still and watched the bizarre scene, wondering why and who would do such a pointless thing. The rider wore a helmet, and what appeared to be dark clothing. The snowmobile stopped and the rider raised his head and looked directly at her window. Tess froze, her heart pounding as she imagined he saw her. Tess closed the drapes quickly, and then chided herself for that movement, which the rider may have seen even if he hadn't seen her before. In something of a panic, now, and feeling too alone and suddenly blind and vulnerable in the cloying darkness, Tess went to the bedroom door and turned on the overhead light. She heard the snowmobile start up and speed away into the night. Then Tess remembered the sheriff's mention of a snowmobile seen in the area at the time of her family's crash. She went downstairs, turning on lights as she went, checking all the doors again to ensure they were locked. She called the sheriff's office in Wilder. Chapter 9 "We'll look into it as far as we can," the deputy who came out told Tess. He'd introduced himself as Duane Prescott then sat in the kitchen with her to listen and take notes about what she'd seen and heard. Now he gave Tess a long look. "You don't remember me, do you?"
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She nodded. "From Dr. Lloyd's office the other day." He shook his head. "I don't mean then. I was the officer who took your statement after your accident, years ago. Sheriff Kendall's concerned about you . . . with the questions we have about your family's accident and all." The way he emphasized "family's" made her take pause. "Should I be frightened? I mean, I am, obviously. That's why you're here. Do you mean I'm not being paranoid? Do you think there's a good reason for me to be afraid?" He looked apologetic. "Let's say we have questions. I don't mean to frighten you, but make sure you keep things locked up while you're here. Are you going to stay long?" She nodded. "Through the end of the year." "Then you might want to get Joe to install new locks on the doors. Have him check the window latches, things like that." "Joe?" "Joe Latimer." "Why would I ask him to change the locks?" "He owns the house." Duane Prescott cocked his head, watching her. Tess's open mouth must have clued him in. "Your parents sold it to Joe, a while back. They didn't tell you?" He went still, watching her for a few seconds longer. "Have you spoken to their attorney yet?" "No, he's out of town, and my parents didn't tell me anything." She bit her lip against her anger. "Neither did Joe." Now she thought she understood Rose's reaction today when Tess had mentioned the possibility of selling the house. "Maybe he assumed you knew already." She looked at him. "Do you know Joe?" "Sure, I've known Joe for years. He used to volunteer on our search and rescue team. We were rivals when we played high school football." "If someone caused my family's crash, that would be murder, correct? Could someone also have caused my accident, eleven years ago, and made it appear I was driving?" He watched her with a grave expression. "I've never been able to remember my accident." Tess got up and paced to the window and back. She turned to face him. Tess felt idiotic that it had never crossed her mind, until she'd overheard the gossip after the funeral yesterday, but she asked the question
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now. "Why weren't any charges ever brought against me? I had drugs and alcohol in my system, and I was found in the driver's seat." He didn't answer. "As for whether both accidents could've been caused by the same person, it's a possibility we haven't considered. I'd wonder about the motives. Your family's accident happened so many years later, if it's the same person I'd have to wonder why they waited so long." ### Tess was in her bedroom, with the bedside lamp on, searching through the journal she'd been reading, when the doorbell rang again. She pulled on a robe and slippers and went downstairs, but hesitated to open the door, even with the chain lock. She called out, "Who is it?" "Tess, it's Joe. Are you all right?" She opened the door and let him in without a word. He wore the same stormy look he had earlier today. "Duane Prescott told me he was up here tonight. Is everything all right?" "You never told me you owned this house." She was still miffed about that. Joe opened his mouth, but then looked to one side, his lips making a sideways halfgrimace. "I would've told you eventually. You'd lost your family. It wasn't the time to play landlord." Yet he hadn't considered it out of line to berate her for not visiting her family? Tess realized all at once that Joe hadn't been living in Cedar Creek at the time of her accident, so he couldn't have caused it, and he wouldn't have tried to break into her house, since he had a key. He may be one of the few people here she could trust. The idea surprised her by its suddenness. She didn't realize she'd been studying him with an open expression, trying to memorize his face and realizing how much she liked it, until Joe smiled. When he did, she blinked, and his smile grew. "Penny for them." She blinked again. "I was thinking that I can trust you." Joe looked wary. "Trust me with what?" "Nothing in particular." Tess turned away from Joe and walked into the dark living room. Why was she obsessing over his face all of a sudden, as if she'd only now seen it for the first time, as if she couldn't get enough of it? "Duane said you might want new locks on the doors. I'll take care of that for you."
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She turned around. "You married. When I was about fourteen. Your mother told my mother." Joe shrugged. "I was nineteen, and she was eighteen. We were married two years, and we had to strain to make it last that long." Tess moved on, into the kitchen. She sat in the rocking chair and curled her legs under her. Joe sat in the big overstuffed chair. He glanced at her and said wistfully, "I always think this kitchen needs a cat." Tess couldn't help a smile. "I used to want a cat. Mom would never let me get one." "I remember. I nearly gave you a kitten once, for Christmas." "You did?" She leaned forward to look at him, curious. "When?" "Let's see. I was twelve, so you must have been, what, seven? Your mom got wind of it, through my sister, and she told my mom. That put an end to that." Tess laughed. "I've been planning to get a cat recently, now that I have a house." She found him studying her. She could've melted into his gaze then. "Where are your parents now?" "They moved to Arizona after Dad retired. They wanted Rose to go with them. She wouldn't budge. She loves it here. She rented the house from them, until I came back and bought it. Now she and I both live there. Look, Tess, the reason your dad sold me this house--" "You don't need to explain. It's none of my business." He looked at her with an odd expression. "Of course it's your business. Your parents were so far in debt, your father was afraid if he died your mother would lose the house. He sold it to me for next to nothing, and I let them live here, also for next to nothing. Just enough rent to pay the property taxes and insurance. It was an arrangement strictly between your dad and me, intended to protect your mother and Spence. It gave your dad some peace of mind. He trusted me. I like to think he was wise to do that. I'd like to think you believe that, too." "What does it matter what I believe?" "It matters to me. I'll sell it back to you. Hell, I'll give it to you. It's only been a few months." She met his gaze, and fell into it. He was close, their chairs nearly touching. He leaned toward her, placed his hand on her arm. "We used to be friends. I'd like to think we can be again." She said nothing.
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"Why did you stay away all those years? I thought you loved it here, loved your family. I don't get it." "You never asked them? My parents?" He shook his head. "They avoided talking about you. I didn't know where you lived." "They never told you about my accident?" "Your accident?" "Joe, Rose knows about it." "I don't talk to Rose about you. She doesn't know how I feel. What accident?" "How you feel? You've wavered, these past few days, between acting as if you hated me, and being unexplainably kind." "I've never hated you. I was angry. I still don't understand why you stayed away. Why don't you explain it to me? And what accident?" She looked down. "I can't." He stood up, looking angry again. What was wrong with the man? Why did he have to know this? "I'll come by tomorrow and change out the locks. I'd better get going." She stood up too. "I'm sorry I can't explain, Joe. I loved my family. I wanted to see them. I missed them so much, I can't begin--" Tess stopped, close to tears. "Don't ask me to explain." "Then can you tell me why you decided to come this year? Why you needed to surprise them? They would've loved to know you were coming. Why did it have to be a surprise?" To tell him that, she'd have to tell him they didn't want her here to begin with, for all those years. He clearly loved them, and the information would either hurt him deeply or he wouldn't believe it at all. There was no right answer. "Believe that I loved them, that I missed them." She didn't know why it was so important to her for him to believe her, but it was. "Please." He turned away and didn't move for several seconds. Finally he took a deep breath and turned back to face her. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night, at the Gold Room?" "The Gold Room?" "Up at Stoneway."
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She nodded. "I know it." The Gold Room was the more upscale of the two restaurants there, and expensive. "A quiet, candlelit dinner for two." He watched her, his voice low. He stood close, and he put a hand on her arm, drawing her closer. It only then sank in that he was asking her for a date. She drew in her breath, then nodded, watching his eyes. "That would be nice, Joe." "I want to try this again." He kissed her, and they both lingered in that kiss. Tess responded with a feeling of urgency, of longing, that she'd never experienced kissing any other man in her life. She wanted more. She put a hand up to his thick black hair and let herself free-fall into his kiss until she was breathless. He backed away with a look of surprise. Then he smiled, his hands still lightly caressing her arms. "Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at six." She leaned against the front door for a minute after he left, hugging herself. "Oh my God." She breathed the words in amazement. "Oh my God, oh my God." ### Tess returned upstairs and found the journal she'd been reading on the floor where she'd left it. She got into bed and picked it up. She stared at the page for several minutes before she could concentrate on the words again. The next several pages made no mention of Tess. They dealt with everyday matters, preparations for the holidays, people her mother had visited or spoken to, and Spence's activities. These things were important to Tess, but they weren't what she needed to read now. She skimmed through the pages, unable to focus, distracted by a jumble of other thoughts, until she thought of going back to the pages written a week or two before she'd gone away to stay with her great aunt. She doubted her parents had decided on the spur of the moment to discourage her from visiting home. In fact, it appeared to have been her father's decision. That decision must have been made long before Tess called to ask if she could come. The entries her mother made shortly after her accident might clarify her parents' motives. Tess turned back the pages. She came to one written two days after her accident that August, eleven years ago, a matter of days before her parents had sent her away to live with Aunt Christine. She read her mother's words: "I'm sitting in Tess's hospital room, praying she'll wake up, wondering what happened to the sweet little girl who used to help me bake on the weekends. "Where did my little girl go? Who is this stranger? Does she know what she's doing to herself, to us? She abandoned Spence to go party with those kids, and has now wound up here, injured and unconscious. She nearly killed herself, driving drunk. My God! Was
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she already drunk when she left Spence alone at the house? I almost hope so, because I can't imagine--don't want to imagine--her leaving her baby brother all alone when she was thinking clearly. "They tell me a head injury can change people. I hope I get my little girl back, the way she used to be." The page blurred as tears formed and shook Tess, becoming deep, inconsolable sobs. The confusion and dismay of those days after her accident returned, and made more sense to her now, a kind of sense she hadn't wanted, a sense that made her feel lost and utterly beyond comfort. She couldn't read any further. Her mother had believed all those horrible things about her. Things Tess couldn't remember. No wonder her parents hadn't wanted Tess to be around Spence after that. Tess couldn't read any further. She stuffed the journal under her pillow, and tried to sleep. Chapter 10 The ringing of the phone downstairs wakened Tess late Saturday morning. It took a moment for her to realize what the sound was. She tumbled out of bed and headed sleepily down the stairs in her nightgown, hugging herself for warmth as she went. The house was frigid. The chill of the kitchen tiles under her bare feet served to clear her head as she reached for the phone. She would've preferred coffee. It was Paige. "What took you so long to answer?" "I was asleep." Tess's voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "This phone is miles from the bedroom." "It's ten o'clock. You are taking a vacation. We're finishing up some things here so we can take a few days off to come up there. What's the name again of the resort you were going to stay at? Stonehenge?" "Stoneway. When are you coming?" "Tomorrow afternoon. I convinced Harry that you need some moral support and help looking into this blackmail business. Is there a turkey in your mother's freezer, by any chance? I promised him food." "If there isn't I'll buy one. I can't wait to see you." "Do you have a phone number handy for Stoneway?" "They're likely booked up by now. You can stay with me." "No, we want you to continue your retreat. I'm calling it a retreat now. We'll only be there a few days. You need your privacy, and we want to go skiing, but we do insist on a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, prepared by our favorite cook--you. What's the number for Stoneway?"
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Tess gave her the number. "Would you bring my cordless phone with you? And call me back if you can't get a room." "Sure. I'll call you back either way, tonight when I get home." "I won't be here tonight." "Oh?" "I have a date, with Joe Latimer." "Oh. Good. Have fun. We'll see you late tomorrow." Tess was shivering by the time their call ended, and she went to work warming up the house. Later she surveyed the snow out front where her snow angels had been obliterated by the snowmobile. She used a rake to smooth it, and then she made new snow angels. Yesterday she'd made them to relax. Today it was an act of defiance. After noon, Tess drove into town and parked in front of Joe's old house. She sat in her car and looked up at the white Victorian for a few minutes. It was a venerable house, built when the town was young and smaller than it was today. She'd rarely taken notice of the house, as a girl, even to draw or paint it, picturesque as it was. So why did it attract her now? Did that have everything to do with Joe Latimer? Or was it also the idea of a bakery, and of hanging her paintings in Alan's gallery? In spite of the loss of her family, possibilities had been opening up since she arrived back in Cedar Creek. She wanted to get past her suspicions of blackmail and murder, and past her grief as well. She wanted to get on to whatever it was she would do with the rest of her life. She needed to start something new. Tess got out of her car at the same moment Laura Greene came striding along the sidewalk. Laura called out to Tess, and when she was close enough she hugged her exuberantly. Laura wore a smart burgundy suit with a teal and burgundy silk scarf. She hurried along the sidewalk beside Tess, with no coat, her arms crossed and head bowed against the cold. She wore boots, but carried a pair of dainty burgundy pumps with three-inch heels in one hand, and a leather briefcase in the other. She wore her hair longer than she had as a girl, pulled back from her face by a single barrette. It curled in natural waves, goldburnished tendrils plotting escape in every direction. Princess hair, Tess had called it when they were girls. Laura's hazel eyes were perpetually filled with lighthearted humor. Her voice effervesced, her laughter bubbled to the surface at the least provocation, and she loved to talk, as she did right now. "I've been wanting to get together with you again ever since I saw you the other day. There wasn't enough time to catch up. Come in and take a look at my office. I'm hoping Joe finds enough tenants to fill the place up, because otherwise he's sinking a lot into this without making a profit, and if he's forced to close the place down we all lose. Ed would move in too, but this isn't suitable for his type of business. He sells sporting goods
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and outdoor gear, as well as snowmobiles, so he needs a lot more space for that, indoors and out. Alan told me you're considering opening a bakery. Wouldn't that be great? The whole gang would be back together again. Alan's ecstatic about you being here, did you know that?" Laura opened the jingling front door of the Victorian and held it for Tess, who followed her into the big front room. It was warm inside. A hammering noise came from somewhere, possibly the kitchen, and Tess turned in that direction. Laura followed. "So do you think there's a chance you and Alan will get together again?" Tess looked into the kitchen, with its spacious layout and big windows. The room appeared to be empty. Maybe the noise had been outside. Sunlight beamed in through the south facing windows of the dining room, warming the room and lending the woodwork a golden glow. Tess pictured the island countertop between the two rooms piled high with pastries and breads. "Well? What do you think?" Laura said. "You know, I'd love to jump right in and say yes, but I'm still mulling it over. I don't want to commit until I've given myself more time." "He asked you out already?" Tess turned and looked at Laura. Surely she couldn't know about Joe asking Tess out. He'd only done that last night. "Who?" "Alan. We're talking about Alan, aren't we?" "No. I wasn't. I'm sorry, I got distracted. I love this kitchen. What were you saying about Alan?" "He hinted yesterday that he's planning to ask you out. He seemed hesitant though. I think he's worried you'll break his heart again. You did, you know." "My parents made me stop seeing him. They thought he was a bad influence. They thought you all were. I don't know where they got the idea, but they acted on it. That was when they set me up with Trent." "I never heard what happened to you after your accident. I mean, except rumors. We weren't allowed to visit you in the hospital. Then my mom heard all the gossip about it and decided you were a bad influence on me. But you disappeared, Tess. Where did you go?" "My parents sent me to live in Seattle with my great aunt. Maybe they thought I'd lead Spence astray, or get him hurt somehow. They thought I ran off and left him alone that night. They didn't want me around after that." Laura made a sound of disbelief. "How could they think that? Didn't they know you at all?"
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"I don't know. They never spoke to me about it after those first days in the hospital. They just sent me away." "That's awful, Tess." Tess felt desperate to change the subject. She realized this was Saturday, and she turned to Laura. "Are you working today?" "Yeah, I'm trying to get caught up so I can take some time over the holiday." Laura looked at her watch. "I have an appointment at one. Want to see my office?" Laura led the way upstairs, and they met Jessica Laine on the landing. She slid a cold glance in Tess's direction. Then she asked Laura if she'd seen Joe. "No, but we just got here." "He said he'd be working right downstairs." Jessica's voice bordered on petulance. "He promised he'd come up and help me with these shelves as soon as he's done with the plumbing." "Which plumbing?" Laura glanced at Tess and shrugged. "I didn't see him. We just came from the kitchen." At a noise below, Tess glanced down the stairs, and saw Joe come out of the kitchen. He paused in the doorway with a pipe wrench in his hand and looked up in her direction. "I'll be another few minutes, Jessica." He nodded at Tess and Laura with a half smile. Jessica flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder as she turned and headed back up the stairs, heels clomping on the wooden stairs. "That woman drives me up a wall," Laura said in an undertone, shaking her head as she led Tess into her bookkeeping office. Tess tried to recall what she and Laura had said in the kitchen, because she was certain Joe had been there and overheard. He must've been working under the sink. The counter would have blocked him from their view. "Don't people have pets around here? What's Joe doing working on plumbing and shelves?" she said irritably. Laura laughed. "He actually has a pretty good business going at his clinic, and he has a second veterinarian working there now. He's been limiting his office hours so he can work on this project. It's a good thing for us, or we'd never get the place ready for business. Right now it looks more like a construction project than a business center. It puts people off. We're looking forward to the more finished look, and the publicity from the grand opening." Laura gave Tess a tour of her office. It was small, but pleasantly arranged and inviting, with big windows and plenty of light. When Laura's client arrived Tess returned downstairs, pausing to enter the restaurant space again, wondering if Joe was still there.
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Tess peered into the kitchen. "Hello?" "Hello." It was Joe's voice, the sound muffled. Tess heard other noises, a clink of a tool against metal. She continued in and rounded the island. Joe lay on his back under the sink, with only his long legs and torso visible. "You didn't warn me the plumbing needed work." "It'll be finished today. It's not a commercial kitchen you know, it's an old house." "I'm sick of commercial kitchens." He eased out from under the sink, stood up and grinned at her. "A plain old country kitchen is good enough? That's a relief." He looked down at the plumbing part in his hand, and a washer he was testing for fit. Jessica came to the door and reminded him again that he'd promised to help her. As she clomped away, he shook his head, looking beleaguered. "I'd better let you get back to work." Tess turned to leave. "Why didn't you tell me your parents sent you away?" Tess turned back. He studied the part in his hand. "Because you didn't want to hear that, Joe." He looked at her and shrugged. "So you tell people what they want to hear?" Was he deliberately twisting her words? "I didn't tell you anything. I never answered the question." She moved toward the door. He called after her, "See you at six." ### Tess decided to wear an ivory silk dress that she'd been saving for the holidays, for her date with Joe. Paige had brought it along with some other clothes when she came up for the funeral. Its plunging back showed a lot of skin, and the wrap that went with it was lightweight, so Tess worried she'd freeze on her way to the restaurant with Joe. Angie called while Tess was dressing, and Tess wore the wrap downstairs to answer. "Your partner Paige made reservations for her and Harry to stay here through the weekend," Angie said on the phone. "She mentioned you're going out with Joe tonight." "Yes."
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"What's going on, Tess?" "I'm not sure, actually." Tess hesitated to admit to anyone that she was falling for Joe. "Well my brother Kevin's birthday party is Monday night. I know he'd love to see you, and Alan Stewart asked me if you'll be there. He and Kevin are as free as birds." "Free?" "I don't relish the thought of Jessica Laine sinking her claws into you. She considers Joe Latimer her territory. Some people have placed bets on how long it will be before he marries her." Tess returned upstairs in a changed mood. She wanted to dismiss Angie's warning as gossip, to believe that Joe wouldn't have asked her out if things were that serious between him and Jessica. Minutes later Tess ran down to the door to greet Joe. He took in the ivory dress with smoldering eyes. "You look like a snow angel tonight." He took her hand and led her out to Rose's sedan, which he'd borrowed for the evening. "How did you fare with the plumbing, and Jessica's shelves?" she asked, nagged by the notion that he was cheating on Jessica to go out with her. "No shop talk tonight. I intend to show you a good time, not bore you with house repairs." He stopped at the car and slapped his forehead. "Your new locks." She laughed. "Are you sure you have time to be a veterinarian?" He wore a wide grin as he opened the car door. "Tomorrow morning, I promise." At the Gold Room, they ordered prime rib and shared a split of champagne. "I only come here on special occasions," Joe told her as he filled her glass. "What's the occasion tonight?" He filled his own and then met her gaze. "I'm celebrating the return of my first love, who grew up to be far lovelier than I could've imagined." Tess was taken aback and suddenly she didn't know what to say. "To first love." Joe held out his glass. Tess clinked glasses with his and drank to that thought. "When did you return to Cedar Creek?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "That's not the question I expected."
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"You expected me to be surprised that I was your first love? Are you forgetting the flowers? You brought me flowers when I was seven. You couldn't have been more than twelve." "You remember that?" His smile was warm and gratifying. Later they danced to the strains of a string quartet. Joe's hand in the small of her back drew Tess close, and he nuzzled her hair. Tess tilted her head back to look at him. He smiled, with a welcome deep in his eyes. "I don't want to let you go. I want to savor this as long as possible." I'm falling in love with you, Joe Latimer. She didn't dare to say it out loud. It was too soon, surely, to know her feelings so clearly. Was she being a fool? Joe drove Tess home and walked her up to her door. A light snow was falling, a gentle snow that didn't carry any storm threat. The shapes of her snow angels were blurring but not yet obscured under the fresh layer. As he took her keys from her and unlocked the door, she saw that snow had fallen on Joe's black hair. He bent his head to kiss her, but she stopped him. She hadn't been able to drive Angie's words from her mind. She had to know. "Joe, are you seeing anyone else right now?" His green eyes glinted under the porch light as he smiled at her. He shook his head and touched her cheek with his fingers. "Only the sweetest woman I know, who apparently doesn't want me to kiss her goodnight." "Kiss me!" Tess said hungrily. He chuckled, and held her in an endless kiss that warmed them both. He kissed her once more, and said goodnight. "I'll be here early with those locks." ### Tess tossed and turned, and finally got no more than a few hours of sleep. Toward morning she had a nightmare. Trent Cambridge pursued her through the woods. She ran, staying a few steps ahead of him, while Trent called to her, telling her she'd pay. She lay awake after that. She rose long before dawn and went down to the kitchenfamily room, where she built up a fire and brewed coffee. She sat in the dark by the fire, thinking about Trent, her accident, and the more recent one that had killed her family. Finally she went upstairs to her studio and turned on all the lights. There she worked out some ideas for paintings. She was on her fifth or sixth watercolor sketch when she jumped at the sound of the doorbell, and realized she was still in her nightgown, fuzzy blue robe, and slippers. It was Joe at the door. "I saw your lights and presumed it wasn't too early to start work. I decided to add deadbolts to replace those old chain locks. I had two on hand."
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"Have you had breakfast?" He shook his head. There was a new light in his eyes, something that made her feel incredibly at home with him this morning. "Let me fix you something." She led him to the kitchen, where she prepared to crack eggs into a skillet. She didn't get far before Joe came around the counter and took her into his arms. "It feels so amazing to hold you like this. I feel as if I've come home. Would you--" He didn't finish his sentence, but kissed her instead. A moment later Tess was breathless. She drew her lips away. "The food." "I don't want breakfast, Tess. I want you." She pulled out of his embrace just long enough to turn off the stove. Then she moved into his arms again, and this time she didn't let go. Before long they moved upstairs, to her bedroom. ### Much later, Tess made them both breakfast while Joe went to work installing deadbolts on her doors. He hummed as he worked, and she felt like singing, herself. She hadn't known this feeling of shared bliss before, and it made even the mundane task of preparing breakfast a rare treat. Ed Greene called, and Tess carried the phone over to the stove, away from the noise Joe was making. Ed wanted Tess to help him shop for a gift for his wife Laura, for her birthday next month. "I have a few dresses picked out, but I can't decide, and Laura thinks you have excellent taste." Tess agreed to help, and arranged to bring Paige and Harry along to shop with Ed for the gift in Sacramento tomorrow. "The glass in the back door still bothers me," Joe told her later, once he'd finished installing the locks. "I should replace it with a solid door, since you're not feeling safe. Is that why Duane was out here the other night? You weren't feeling safe?" She took a deep breath and sighed. "Tess?" "There was someone here that night, Joe. On a snowmobile. They tore up my snow angels." It sounded so idiotic now that she cringed at her own words, but Joe looked worried. He went through the house with her and checked all the window locks. When they came to her studio, Joe paused to look at the sketches she'd done that morning.
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"These are incredible." He picked up first one and then another. They were mostly of the scenes she could see from these windows, the trees thick on the mountains, the snow frosting everything. "They're practice." "You captured Cedar Creek, your house, the trees, the subtlest colors. These make me think you love it here more than you ever say." His gaze lingered on her sketches. "I suppose I do. This is home." He finally gathered his tools together. He had more work to do at the Victorian today. "What are you going to name that old house?" Tess asked him at the door. "I used to call it by its street number." He turned to her with a challenge in his eyes. "You name it for me. Give it some thought, and come up with a name. I'll have a sign made. By the way, what will you call your bakery, if you open it?" She surprised herself by answering at once, with a smile, "Cathy's." "After your mom. I like that." He kissed her again before he left. Tess stood by the door and watched him drive away. Tess knew she should start sorting through her family's things. Instead she went to the kitchen and baked. She stirred up a light, fluffy sugar cookie dough and formed it into snow angel shapes. She baked them to delicate, crisp perfection and let them cool. Shortly after noon, an insistent pounding on the front door roused Tess from the batch of cooled snow angel cookies she'd begun to dust with powdered sugar. Irritated by the interruption and more by the unnecessary racket, she paused to glance out the living room window. The yellow sports car parked crookedly in the driveway was Jessica Laine's. Tess groaned, and took her time wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she headed for the door. "I do have a doorbell, Jessica," Tess said as she opened it. "The button is right there, and it's lit up all the time." If she was going to have to tangle with Jessica, Tess was going to do it on her own terms. She moved to block the doorway as Jessica tried to sweep in past her. "I don't believe I asked you in." "It's cold out here. It's snowing." "You're not going to freeze, in that fur, in the short time you'll be here." Jessica said, bristling noticeably. "I need to talk to you." Tess waited silently, her arms folded. She hoped this wouldn't take too long, as she hated to let much cold air into the house.
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"May I please come in?" "That wasn't too difficult was it?" Tess stepped to one side. "I'll say what I came to say quickly. I want you to stay away from Joe. You don't live here, you have nothing to gain from chasing after him. He doesn't have any money. He's sunk every cent he has into these rental projects of his. Leave him alone." "Shouldn't he be the one to decide that?" "My cousin told me she saw you and Joe together in the Gold Room last night." "Yes." "She said you were holding hands." "Yes." Tess met Jessica's gaze calmly. "I don't see what that has to do with you." "Joe and I are engaged!" Jessica raised her left hand and flashed a diamond ring in front of Tess's face. A huge diamond. Tess's heart caught in her throat at the sight of that ring. She'd assumed Angie had been exaggerating, gossiping, making assumptions. She'd never mentioned a ring. Jessica went on, and the name she spoke next caught and held Tess's attention. "Trent told me about you, what kind of trouble you can be." "Trent is a rapist, Jessica. I'd be careful taking his word for anything. Shouldn't you talk to your fiancé about this, rather than to me? It was Joe who asked me to dinner. He failed to mention any engagement." Tess spoke with a dignity she didn't feel. She'd been foolish for not heeding Angie's warning. Tess had always been amazed that any woman would want to involve herself with a man who was already attached. Now she'd gone and done it herself. She couldn't believe her own naivete. As for Joe, he'd looked her right in the eye and lied to her! How could she have been such an idiot? "Don't you stand there looking wide-eyed and innocent," Jessica blurted out. "You knew Joe and I were involved with each other. You've seen us together, and I'm sure others have told you. Yet you deliberately chased after him. Stay away from him, do you hear?" Jessica swung around and stalked out the door, leaving it wide open. Tess closed the door and leaned against it, facing the silent, empty house. Chapter 11 "You're in love, aren't you?" Paige looked accusingly at Tess across the table. They were in the main dining room at Stoneway, a huge rustic room with a walk-in fireplace
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and warm, polished wood gleaming everywhere. Harry had gone to get drinks for the three of them, and as soon as he'd gone Paige shot the words at Tess. "I don't suppose there's any use denying it. You know me too well. Is this what it's like to have a sister?" "Don't tease me, Tess. It's written all over you. I could tell when you met us here today. Your parents would've liked you to marry him, I suppose." "Marry. Paige, I'm not going to marry him." "Well of course you haven't talked about it yet, but in time. You don't think I missed the way he kept looking at you when we were here the last time?" Tess was shaking her head at her friend. "I never knew you were a romantic." "I'm not. I think it's disgusting. You're just making a name for yourself, entering the height of your career, then in walks this country Joe and sweeps you off your feet, like in some hokey romance. It's horrible. I always thought you were so sensible." "I hope you're right, because I'm going to do what I feel is the most sensible thing." "What's that?" Paige leaned toward Tess, her eyes intent. "I'm going to forget all about Joe Latimer, and concentrate on making some decisions about my life," Tess said in a dull tone of voice. "Oh," Paige said with a hint of disbelief. "You don't appear overly enthusiastic about that plan--if one can call it a plan." Harry returned with their drinks. He looked from one silent woman to the other as he set their drinks down. "What's this? Have I interrupted the girl talk? Do you want me to exit and come back later?" He sat down. "Or join in. What's up?" "Nothing." "Tess is in love. Isn't it awful?" "Paige!" "It's Harry. I wouldn't tell anyone else. Harry's family." "Why thank you. But what's this about? Tess? Don't tell me you've fallen for that Latimer fellow." Tess grimaced at Paige, who grinned back devilishly and raised her eyebrows. Then Paige sobered. "What do you think, Harry?" "It's what Tess thinks that matters."
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"And I don't want to discuss it, Paige. He's not available. Nothing can ever come of it, so what's the point? Let's enjoy our dinner." Tess took a long swallow of the icy drink Harry had placed in front of her. Harry and Paige exchanged meaningful looks across the table. "Please." "Very well, Tess. But remember, should you ever want to discuss it." "You're the first two people I would think of." Tess sent Harry a grateful smile. "Good." He picked up his menu and they discussed other matters. The magazine, Stoneway, the chances of more snow falling before morning. Paige glared into space for a few minutes, but soon she joined the conversation as well. Tess felt Paige's curious glance on her several times before the meal was served, but Harry continued to delicately steer the conversation away from the subject of Joe Latimer. "I brought your cordless phone," Paige said eventually, "and Deborah says you need to check your voice mail at home. She's been taking care of the business calls, but she says there's one personal message you need to hear." Tess nodded, not wanting to think about L.A. They sat in Stoneway's main dining room, with its high open rafters, wide expanses of small, leaded window panes, and gleaming woodwork. Amid the rustic, casual atmosphere the warm hum of unstilted conversation filled the room. A fire crackled in the gigantic stone hearth and a trio of musicians played down-to-earth tunes to which diners sporadically sang along or clapped their hands. Most of the other diners were skiers, who tended to congregate in small groups in the big dining room, wearing colorful sweaters. They were young people--or young at heart-with bright eyes, glowing skin, glistening hair, and lively voices. Laughter continuously drifted from one corner or another of the dining hall. The effect was exhilarating. Halfway through the meal, Tess realized she'd been staring unseeing at an oil painting on the nearest wall. She focused on it. It was unusual for a dining room, a portrayal of a hunter shooting at an elk. The elk performed an agonized contortion, seemingly mid-air, as it was struck while attempting to flee. Tess realized an awkward silence had dropped over the table. She looked at Paige and Harry. The expression in Paige's eyes startled Tess. Paige glared furiously at something, or someone, behind Tess, in the direction of the entrance to the dining hall. Tess started to turn around, to see what Paige was looking at, when Harry grasped her arm, wearing a sudden eager smile on his face. "Tess, you haven't told me much about this inn, and I'm fascinated by it. It's a grand place, not at all what I expected to find out here in--" "The back of beyond?" Paige put in. She still frowned, but her focus had shifted back to Tess and Harry. "It is a nice place. I'm glad we came here."
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"Angie's grandfather built it. Angie's done a lot of renovations since she took over. I think she's done an amazing job. You should ask her to tell you more about it, Harry." "I'll do that. It would make a terrific setting for a photo shoot. We could do a whole story here. Another drink, Tess? Have you had any new thoughts about the name change?" "No more for me, thanks. I need more time to think about the name." "Yes. Of course, give it more time. Would the added publicity make you uncomfortable?" "You're the extroverts in this business." Tess stopped, because she wanted to say she didn't feel half the same commitment to the magazine that she knew they each did. She'd been too caught up in her feelings about her family, the past, and Joe to notice what was going on in her feelings about her work, now that she was away from the office. Tess knew the reason the tea party book didn't yet have a title was that she'd been waiting for something about it to light a fire inside her, the way her other books had. This one was work, that was all. Pleasant work, but still just work. She hadn't felt passionate about that work in a long time. "I'm still thinking things through." "Let's order dessert and coffee," Paige said decisively. "You two go ahead." Tess pushed her half-eaten food away. "We have a full day planned tomorrow. I think I'll run home now, if you don't mind. I didn't get much sleep last night." She stood and picked up her purse. "But you can't go yet." Paige looked alarmed. "I'm sorry. I know it's early and you just got here, but I'm bushed." Tess started to turn away, but something in Paige's eyes stopped her. She looked closely at her friend. Paige lowered her gaze, but not soon enough for Tess to miss the anger that still smoldered in their depths. "Paige, what is it?" Paige said nothing, but Tess had already witnessed her angry glance toward the entrance. Tess felt a cold prickle at the nape of her neck. Paige had focused in that direction, with the same anger in her eyes, minutes earlier. Tess turned around, scanning the crowd. It didn't take long to pick out the object of Paige's animosity. Seated at a table near the doorway, sharing a meal and a bottle of wine with two other people, was Joe Latimer. One of the people with him was a well-dressed older man, with the athletic build and tan of someone who spent a lot of time on tennis courts and ski trails. It took Tess a few seconds to recognize him as Ned Cambridge. The other person was Jessica Laine, looking svelte in a low-cut gold satin dress. Her blonde hair hung sleek and golden in the lamplight. Jessica sat near enough to brush thighs with Joe, and she appeared to hang on his every word while he spoke animatedly to Ned.
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Tess's heart went cold inside her as she studied Joe seated there beside his fiancée. Tess couldn't help but let her gaze linger, taking in the fine, strong lines of Joe's cheekbones, his wavy black hair and moustache, that spark of intelligence in his eyes. It was unmistakable, even glimpsed across a crowded room. The sight of him brought a stab of pain. Tess turned back to her friends. Both were watchful, concerned. Paige shook her head. "The nerve of him." "You're better off, Tess," Harry offered. Suddenly Tess was unaccountably angry with her two friends. "Stop it. Stop it, both of you!" She hissed at them. She blinked back tears and took a deep breath. "I'll see you both in the morning." Tess walked across the dining hall with all the dignity she could marshal. She had to pass by Joe's table, and as she neared it she felt his gaze settle on her. She thought she heard him call her name out low. She walked past the table with her back straight, her chin level, and her eyes on the wide, open doorway to the lobby, where a large black bear, a taxidermist's nightmare from half a century ago, reigned over the front desk, looking about to swipe at an innocent guest. Tess remembered it from when she'd worked here as a teenager. She'd always hated the bear. It gave the lobby a disquieting atmosphere, not at all conducive, in her mind, to fun and relaxation. Tess was surprised Angie kept it around, and she recoiled a little as she walked past it. Its size alone was intimidating. As she passed the bear, she nearly collided with Trent Cambridge. Tess knew him instantly. She stopped and stared at him. Trent appeared just as shocked to see her. Then his handsome, clean-cut face took on a familiar expression that made Tess feel ill, as she froze there, paralyzed with fear. "Pardon me." He nodded, with a smug look, and headed the other way, out the lobby door. Tess stood there, unmoving. She felt seventeen again, and scared out of her wits. Would Trent be waiting out there for her, when she went to her car? She cast around the empty lobby, not sure what to do. She had nowhere else to go but out to that parking lot, so she could get home. She couldn't go back and face Joe, or Paige and Harry. She wanted to get home. She used to work here at Stoneway, but at the moment she felt entirely lost. "Tess?" Alan's voice, close behind her, startled her. She turned back into the hallway to face him, not four feet from the dining room entrance and the table at which Joe and his companions sat. Alan's eyes and light brown hair gleamed in the light of the big fireplace nearby. "Hey, you were a million miles away." "I suppose I was."
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Alan smiled, and Tess forced herself to smile too, though without much genuine force behind it. "I tried to phone you at home earlier. Then Angie told me your friends had arrived from L.A. I hoped to buy you dinner. You're alone? Have you been abandoned?" He glanced around. "No. I left them. I'm not good company tonight. I--didn't get much sleep." "Well, you look sensational. There's dancing in the lounge, and danceable music." He nodded in that direction. Tess could hear the beat of the band playing there. "How about one drink and one dance?" Tess hesitated. "You'd make my night for me. My motives are purely selfish. I want to be seen with the most beautiful woman in the place tonight. Won't you boost a poor fellow's ego?" Tess nodded, with a sudden desire to avoid going anywhere near Trent Cambridge, and, secondary to that, a wish to simply abandon herself to some fun in the hope it would numb her to everything else. "How could I refuse in the face of blatant flattery? All right. One drink and one dance." "It's still early," Alan said with a wide grin as he wrapped her arm in his and steered her toward the lounge. "Maybe I can coax more out of you." As they moved away, Tess heard a loud "Humph!" She thought it came from Ned Cambridge. "Here she is," Alan said to Angie and her brother Kevin, in the lounge. "What'll you have, Tess?" Kevin asked from behind the bar. "May I make a recommendation?" "Recommend away." Kevin drew a Canadian ale into a frosty mug for her. Tess took a seat at the bar, while Alan wandered away toward the band, which had paused for a break. "I guess you saw Joe," Angie said behind Tess. Tess nodded. "They're engaged." "Might as well be, and the uncle's all for it. I tried to warn you about them." "It was too late by then." Tess turned toward Angie with a grim smile. "So that's how it is? This is your month, isn't it?"
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Tess shrugged. Angie straightened and moved closer to her. "Have you learned anything from your mother's journals?" Tess shook her head. She put her beer down, untouched. Her stomach felt leaden. Her mother's words came back to her. They tell me a head injury can change people. I hope I get my little girl back, the way she used to be. How could her mother have believed Tess to be anything other than who she was? A young girl, eager for life, broadening her horizons. Tess had never been in any trouble, before her accident. Why had her mother been so convinced she was up to something she wasn't? Because she'd stayed out late a few nights? Because she'd dropped her old shyness and made some new and unusual friends? Because Tess and her new friends had wanted to be different? Was it simply because Tess had made new friends, and questioned the religion she'd grown up with, that her parents began to distrust her? So much so that they believed her capable of truly criminal behavior? That didn't make any more sense now than it had back then, when Tess had become so hyperaware of her parents' disapproval that she'd second-guessed every move, afraid they'd get the wrong impression about what she was up to. She'd done her best to comply with their rules, their desires. How could they have been so wrong about her? They lived with her! "Tess?" Angie prompted. "Nothing. Nothing but more grief," Tess finally said, with another shake of her head. "What does that mean?" Angie sat down on the bar stool beside her, ready to listen. "It means I should've come home years ago, whether they wanted me to or not. At least I would've seen Spence again." She turned to meet Angie's gaze. Angie looked down then. Tess needed to change the subject. "The place looks great, Angie. I can't believe what you've done with it." Tess recalled the place had seemed run down to her when she worked here, years ago. Angie had made a lot of changes. "How did you manage to do so much?" Angie gave a half-shrug in reply. "Tess?" Alan was beside her. He grasped her hand and urged her toward the dance floor. The band had started a slow, romantic song. Tess looked curiously at Alan. "You did promise." His smile was contagious. "I requested a slow one." She relented, and moved onto the dance floor with him. He held her close. "You'll feel much better soon. I promise." "When did you become friends with Angie?" Tess asked him, recalling how he and Angie had bantered about their hunting exploits, like old pals, after the funeral a few days ago.
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"After you went away, we consoled each other and tried to figure out where you'd gone. Your parents wouldn't tell us." "I never knew that." "I guess we commiserated long enough that we eventually realized we had a few other interests in common, besides you." "I'm glad the commiserating wasn't a total waste of time." "We hunt together, that's about it, but she's encouraging me to see more of you while you're here. Would you mind that?" Tess didn't know what to say. If Angie was fixing her up with Alan, Tess hadn't asked to be fixed up. She'd forgotten about Alan years ago, and didn't feel the same attraction to him that she once had. Nothing even close. "Your silence isn't reassuring." "I'm sorry. There are a lot of other things on my mind right now besides dating, that's all." "Well. That's understandable." Alan held her close, and said no more. After their dance, Tess asked Alan to walk her out to her car. She drove home, attempting to push Joe out of her mind, while she puzzled over the blackmail letter, which she and her partners had avoided discussing in the public setting of the main dining room. They couldn't discuss it tomorrow either, during the shopping trip to Sacramento with Ed. Kevin's party was tomorrow night. It would be Tuesday before they could talk about it. Tess hated waiting that long to go to the sheriff. When she arrived home, Tess parked in front of the house with an uneasy feeling. She glimpsed her snow angels as she hurried up the walkway, noting they were untouched. She unlocked the door, and bent to pick up a piece of paper that was stuck partway under the front door. It was a handwritten note: "Heard you were back in town. Funny we should bump into each other. I waited for you in the parking lot. Catch you next time. T." Certain the "T" of the note was Trent Cambridge, Tess was afraid to enter the house-and afraid to stay outside. She went in, locked the door right behind her, and turned on every light as she headed to the kitchen and the phone. She hadn't given Paige a chance to get her cordless phone from her room for her, so the kitchen was still the only place Tess could make a call. She thought about calling the sheriff. What would she say, that Trent Cambridge had left a note on her door? Only it didn't say Trent, he hadn't signed it. It wouldn't appear threatening to anyone but Tess. It could be from anyone, signed with nothing more than an initial. She rummaged in her purse for the card the deputy had given her. Finally she called the number, and asked
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for Deputy Prescott. He'd seemed to take her fears seriously. He'd been the one to suggest she get the locks changed, and he'd mentioned Trent. "He's off duty," the woman who answered the phone told her. "Do you want to leave a message, or speak to another officer?" "Neither. Thank you." Tess hung up. When she went to bed, Tess noticed all the journals stacked on the nightstand. In a fit of melancholy, she got up and retrieved an empty box from the garage. She packed all her mother's journals into the box, and put it in her studio cabinet, where she'd stored all her family's other possessions. "I can't face you right now, either, Mom." Tess wasn't able to sleep until late. The house was empty and cold, and her mind was full of loose threads of thought. She thought about Trent, and every creak of the settling woodwork frightened her. She woke up in the middle of the night and felt lost in the emptiness of the big bed. She longed to have Joe here. She finally slept, dozing fitfully until morning. Chapter 12 Monday dawned brilliant, warm and sparkling. The weather didn't do anything to improve Tess's mood, even when she remembered the shopping trip scheduled for today, which she'd hoped would provide a diversion from her problems. She showered and dried her hair, taking much longer than usual to do so, because she kept dawdling, caught up in one memory after another of the hours--there were surprisingly few of them--that she'd spent with Joe Latimer since her return. Paige and Harry arrived and scolded her affectionately for not being ready to leave. While she finished dressing Harry made a quick breakfast for them. They grabbed their coats when they heard Ed Greene's mini-van in the driveway. Ed greeted them with his broad, salesman's grin. "Look who's coming with us today." Joe Latimer stepped out of the car behind him. "Joe has some business in Sacramento, so I suggested he ride along with us." Joe nodded a silent greeting to them, catching Tess's eye. He held her gaze for long seconds, as if looking for an answer to a question in her eyes. Tess drew in her breath and stiffened, remembering too clearly how she'd seen him last night, seated beside Jessica. Yet a part of her felt a thrill at the sight of him standing under the blue sky, his marvelous eyes focused on her. You're pitiful, she told herself in disgust. They piled into the mini-van, and somehow Joe maneuvered into a place beside Tess, in the back. Tess couldn't help but be conscious of him, so near their shoulders touched. Tess remained aware, all during the drive into the valley, of the wonderful male scent of him, the nearness of the shining black hair she'd run her fingers through yesterday morning. His voice was like a touch each time he spoke, entering easily into conversation with the others.
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Paige and Harry were both quiet and constrained at first, but Joe drew them out, and soon they conversed with him casually. Paige caught Tess's glance and shrugged, as if to ask what else she could do? She was being civil. Tess remained quiet through most of the drive. In Sacramento, Ed parked in front of a large outdoor mall. The sun was much warmer here, and Tess and Paige both shed their coats to leave them in the car. Tess folded her coat neatly and placed it on the car seat. When she turned, Ed and Joe were both staring at her, each wearing a different expression. Ed's was a look of open admiration mingled with curiosity. "That dress looks familiar. I'm sure I've seen it before, on someone else." Tess wore her brown wool dress, identical to the one Jessica Laine had worn on the first night Tess had met her. "If you've been shopping for your wife, you may have seen it on a store dummy," Paige said. "I was with Tess when she bought it, in a store much like the ones here." "That must be it." Ed led them away from the car. Tess surmised that Ed had seen the dress on Jessica, who'd passed it off as something unique and pricey. She turned to follow him and found Joe still watching her, his gaze on her dress. Ed showed them the five or six dresses he'd narrowed his choice to, and Paige and Harry were both instantly in their element. Harry had worked for a fashion magazine, and Paige was an inveterate shopper. Ed got into a lengthy discussion with Harry about Laura's coloring and color preferences, what he thought she looked best in, and so on. Tess found it hard to concentrate on the business at hand, and she hung back, silent and full of her own thoughts. She kept catching herself daydreaming, and soon the others drifted away to other racks of clothing, leaving her behind. "Tess?" Joe was beside her, his hand on her arm. "Are you all right?" She looked up into his eyes. "I'm fine." Tess turned toward the others, only to find with a shock that they were nowhere in sight. She suddenly felt as she had when she was a little girl and would get lost while shopping with her mom. She experienced the same instant of panic now. She let out a cry under her breath. "You don't look as if you slept at all last night. Alan should've known better than to tire you out dancing." Joe's voice was edgy. Tess turned to look at him, amazed that he had the gall to be jealous of her and Alan. "He did nothing of the kind. Alan was kind to me. I find his company . . . relaxing." She wanted to ask if he'd enjoyed his dinner with Jessica last night, but held her tongue.
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"Tess, come look at this," Paige called nearby. Tess tugged her arm out of Joe's grasp and hurried away in the direction of Paige's voice. The simple dress was made of elegant French blue silk, with a modestly scooping neckline. It could be dressed up with a jacket, scarf or wrap, and was a suitable length for any occasion. Ed decided within a few minutes on the purchase. He couldn't wait to see it on Laura. Soon he had it gift-wrapped and paid for, and the small group decided to split up and do the rest of their shopping separately. It was nearly holiday season, and they'd get a head start on next weekend's crowds. They agreed to meet at one o'clock for lunch in a nearby coffee shop. Tess was leaving a book store, later, when she saw Joe walk into the jeweler's across the way. She'd planned to go there next to look for a gift for Paige, but after seeing him go in, Tess changed her course and headed for another shop. When the time neared to meet at the coffee shop for lunch, Tess set out briskly in that direction. She passed the jewelry store again and the display in the window caught her eye. She paused to look, though she'd already found a gift for Paige. When she was about to walk on she heard a salesman's voice inside the shop, near the open door. "Thank you, Mr. Latimer. I'm sure your lovely fiancée will be delighted with your choice. Come again soon, won't you?" Tess froze, as the words rang home. Joe had purchased jewelry for Jessica. He must have spent considerable time choosing the gift. He'd been in that shop for well over an hour. It's none of my business, Tess told herself. She watched Joe come out of the shop and turn away in the other direction. She shivered, in spite of the warmth of the sunlight. Bemused and depressed, she felt more alone than ever. She hung back and waited for a few minutes before she followed Joe to the coffee shop. He was waiting at the door, the first one there, and he shot her a brilliant smile when he saw her. "I see your shopping was fruitful. Let me take some of those for you." He took most of her packages off her hands. She thanked him coolly, at a loss for words after what she'd heard outside the jeweler's. Did he have to be so nice to her right now? She would've been relieved to be able to dislike him. It would be so much less painful than loving him without any hope of her love being returned. Joe stood close to her. "Tess, I'd like to ask you something." She looked up, praying silently that he wouldn't want her opinion of whatever he'd purchased for Jessica. She couldn't bear that. "Kevin Norwood's birthday party is tonight, at Stoneway. I'd like you to accompany me."
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She stared at him for a few seconds. Why did he do this to her? Did he enjoy torturing her, tearing her apart emotionally? "Why don't you ask Jessica to go with you?" Her words were sharp. He stared at her, and a frown slowly creased his forehead. "You don't understand, Tess." "No, I don't understand you!" She hurried to the restroom at the back of the coffee shop. Paige found Tess there, minutes later, splashing cool water on her face and tearreddened eyes. "Joe said you ran in here." She handed Tess a paper towel. "He thought maybe you weren't feeling well." Tess didn't speak, for fear her tears would start again. She hadn't intended to cry when she ran in here. She'd only wanted to get away from Joe until the others arrived. "Love sucks, Tessie, and man have you got a bad case." Paige shook her head. "Here." She took Tess's purse from her and opened it to find her makeup pouch. "Cosmetics are a woman's arsenal. Sometimes they're all the armor you have against a cruel world." Paige talked about things totally unrelated to her troubles while Tess freshened her makeup. Finally she thought she looked close to herself again and ventured a weak smile at her reflection. "That's more like it. Let's go eat. I'm starved." Tess felt awkward arriving at their table under the concerned scrutiny of the others. The men stood, and Joe was quick to pull out a chair for her. She thanked him, and was relieved when Harry took up the conversation right where the men had left off. Tess sat quietly composing herself, listening to the others talk. She was hungry, and when the food arrived she focused her attention on that. When Ed dropped them off at her house, Tess told Paige and Harry she needed some time alone. They drove away at once, leaving Tess to her privacy. She checked to make sure all the downstairs windows and doors were locked, then she warmed up the house and took a relaxing bath. She didn't want to go to Kevin's party at all now, but she'd promised both Angie and Kevin that she would, and Paige and Harry were expecting her. She started to get ready early, so she could take her time. ### Rose Latimer came to Kevin's party at Stoneway, but Joe didn't, to Tess's relief. She didn't think she could face him again today. Jessica's word alone may not have convinced Tess fully of their engagement, but the jewelry salesman could only have known of it from Joe himself. Joe was entirely out of Tess's reach, for any appropriate relationship. If the blackmail letters hadn't been enough to drive her away from Cedar Creek for good, her need to avoid Joe Latimer very well might.
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Kevin introduced Harry and Paige around to all of his friends, and Harry and Rose Latimer danced together in the lounge while Paige and Tess witnessed Harry's unmistakable attraction to Joe's unpretentious sister. "I believe our favorite Englishman may have picked himself a blushing Rose," Paige murmured in Tess's ear as they watched the pair dance. "Oh gods, now I'm punning!" Tess smiled. "You're a romantic, Paige." "I think it's the altitude. I'm much more of a cynic at home." Tess chatted with old friends from school, and danced with Kevin, remarking to him how impressed she was with all he and Angie had done at Stoneway. "It's all Angie's doing. I just work here. The place was close to bankruptcy when Granddad died, so I'm as impressed as anyone. She sure stresses over marketing, though. Makes me relieved to be only an employee. I hope you'll encourage her to take some time off with you while you're here." Tess danced with Alan again, twice. Then Angie beckoned her away, to her office. Tess followed her through the dimly lit lobby, past the stuffed black bear. They went through the opening behind the front desk into the office beyond. It was a small space, crowded with file cabinets, three chairs, the desk and a credenza. A computer and laser printer took up much of the space on the desktop and the credenza. Angie sat at the big desk and unlocked a bottom drawer. "Kevin rarely comes in here, so this is where I hid his gift." She brought out a wooden case and opened it up. A large knife gleamed inside the case, its dark wood handle inlaid with silver. "Is that a hunting knife?" "Uh-huh." "Beautifully worked handle." Angie looked up at her. "I don't know why I'm showing you. I know you're not interested in hunting. At least you never used to be." "I'm sure Kevin will love it, if he's a hunter." "He's new to it, he first went with us this fall. We're planning an outing in a couple of days. Would you like to go? I'll convince Alan to come if you do." "Alan?" Suddenly Tess understood. "Angie, are you trying to fix me up With Alan?" "I'm apparently better at it than I thought. It took you forever to catch on. I can loan you anything you need." Angie nodded toward one wall of the office. Tess only then noticed the gun rack on that wall, full of hunting rifles. A compound bow and other hunting implements hung on the same wall.
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Angie closed the box containing Kevin's gift and placed it in a gift bag. She signed a card while Tess continued to look around the office. "On second thought, if you don't have a tag, you're not going to get one at this late date. You'd have to come along as an observer." "I'd forgotten you liked to hunt." Once when they were teens, Angie had talked Tess into going with her and her grandfather, when they hunted with some of their friends. Tess had packed along art supplies and been happy to do some nature sketching while she trailed as quietly as possible after the others. When one member of the party had killed a deer, Tess had been ready to go home, and thought she was finished with hunting for life. Angie watched her now. "Still not your speed?" "I'm afraid not. What are you going to hunt?" "Black bear." Tess couldn't help a glance over her shoulder toward the lobby where the black bear stood. "Oh that thing's old as the hills." "I'll stick to playing in the snow." Angie grinned, shaking her head. "It's a wonder you're not a vegetarian. Oh, Alan doesn't ski. He thinks clearing slopes for skiing is an affront to the environment. He's only considering coming on this hunt because of you. He says the only reason he hunts deer is it helps balance the population, since we've killed off most of the predators. Personally, I think he's full of crap, making excuses because he loves to hunt and hates to ski. He probably has two left feet. How was he at dancing?" Angie went on without waiting for an answer. "In any case, I'm sure we'll find something you two still have in common." "We have the same thing in common we always did, our artwork. But, Angie, I don't want to be fixed up, with Alan or anyone else. I haven't decided yet whether I'm staying, you know." She was thinking she might leave when Paige and Harry did, after Thanksgiving. "Okay, but Alan will be disappointed, and I was hoping to get your mind off you-knowwho for the rest of your visit." Angie smiled and picked up the gift bag. "Come on, I want to give this to Kevin." Tess didn't think anyone or anything would get her mind off Joe Latimer anytime soon. She returned to the party, where she danced, visited with old friends, and watched Kevin open his gifts. When she was so tired she feared she would fall asleep standing up, and her yawns were out of control, she went home alone and lost herself in a deep, exhausted sleep. ### On Tuesday Tess went to the old Victorian house at noon, and dropped in on Rose in her bookshop.
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"I want to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner at my house," Tess told her, thinking Joe would no doubt spend Thanksgiving with his fiancée, so Rose might be at odds. "Harry will be there. So will Paige, Ed and Laura. Angie and Kevin have even promised to come, if they can get away. Bring a guest if you like." Rose nodded. "Thank you. I think I'll come with Joe, if you don't mind." "Of course," Tess said after only a second's hesitation. "Um, let him know about it, will you, when you see him? I haven't had a chance to invite him yet." Rose showed her around Fabled Rose. Afterward they sat in the private portion of the room Rose had screened off as an office space. Her laptop computer was there, and a typing chair, along with a chair for a visitor. A small table held a laser printer. Rose moved books off another tiny table between the two chairs, and as she did so Tess glimpsed titles having to do with hunting. Archer's Bible and The Elk Hunter, among others. "You're a hunter too?" Tess said in some surprise. So soon after her conversation with Angie last night, the sight of those books had her wondering if she was the only person from Cedar Creek who shunned the sport. Rose followed her gaze to the books, and her face reddened. "Oh, those. They're . . . research. I borrowed them, and I put them here so I'd remember to return them. I've been doing some writing." She said this as though confessing a crime. "What are you writing?" Rose's smile was meek and radiant at once. "A novel." "Rose, that's fantastic." "I used to write essays. The Sacramento paper ran a couple of them. I've written some stories for children, for a magazine, and I've always kept a journal, like your mother did, but I've never tackled anything like this. It's a huge project. I stalled on the fourth chapter for a few weeks, but in the past few days I've taken off again. The characters have come to life for me, and I can't stop thinking about it. Just when I thought I was done with the research, I came up with something new that I needed to learn." "Soon you'll be busy doing book signings." Rose blushed. "Thank you, Tess. You're what I needed today, to encourage me to keep going. You know, you inspired me with your studio. I've set aside a workspace in the den now, for my writing. I've been taking the laptop back and forth between here and home." She paused. "I keep finding myself hoping you'll decide to move back here." Her smile saddened. "You'll stay in touch with me, won't you, whether things work out between you and Joe or not?" Tess studied Rose's face, thinking Rose must not know yet about Joe's engagement, though she couldn't imagine why he would keep that from his sister. "Our friendship is a
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separate thing." Tess assured Rose that if she went back to L.A. she would keep in touch. She gave her the phone numbers in L.A. to seal her promise. "Have you decided yet whether you're going to bake for our grand opening, and try out the place for your own business?" Tess shook her head. "I'm afraid I'm leaning toward not doing it." "Oh, that's too bad. I hope you'll reconsider. Joe keeps telling me you're a wonderful cook. Harry says the same thing. He mentioned you've been doing some baking." Rose looked so disappointed Tess felt a need to explain. "I admit, there's something about this place that inspires me to cook. The fresh air gives me a huge appetite. If I stay much longer, I'll be so fat someone will have to roll me around, but I doubt I'll be here much longer, so I don't--" Tess stopped, because a strange expression had come over Rose's face. "I've upset you." Rose shook her head. "Sorry. Old self-consciousness rearing its ugly head. I don't know if you remember, but I used to be terribly overweight. You'd think I'd be over it now, but sometimes the mere mention of the word fat brings it all back. The kids making fun, you know. Don't mind me." She took on a sad expression. Tess remembered the pep talks her mother used to give her about her appearance whenever she felt particularly gawky as a girl. "You miss my mom right now, don't you?" Rose stared at her, mouth open. "How did you--" Then she smiled and nodded. "You would know better than anyone how encouraging she could be. I lived away during my first two years of college, and I lost a lot of weight. Then I came back here to live. That summer, I dated someone I thought was special, but when I started gaining weight again, he--well, he actually turned on me. He was abusive. It was a painful time for me. That was shortly before you went away, and after you did--well, let's say I can honestly give Cathy--your mom--credit for pulling me through that and the work it took to get those pounds back off again, when I was still depressed over what happened with him." Rose's expression had softened. She went on, "Maybe it was because she missed you that she took me under her wing the way she did. She made me feel less of an emptiness that needed to be filled with food. I don't know how she did it, but if you could bottle that magic of hers you could make a fortune." Tess wondered where that magic had been when her mother had kept her away all those years. "I think Cathy made me a foster daughter, to fill your place in her life," Rose said, watching Tess with a remote expression. "I used to wonder, if you came back, whether she and I could still be as close. I confess to a certain amount of envy toward you." Envy? Tess's glance fell on the laser printer again, and she recalled the blackmail letters, which could've been printed on a laser printer. She'd seen laser printers in Angie's office and here, but this one surprised her, because Rose had said she was on a tight budget and had taken out a loan to purchase inventory for her shop.
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"That's a nice printer," Tess said, hating her suspicions and her jealousy. "I got it at a sale the school had. Every few years they replace old computer equipment. It needed work, but Alan helped me find a place that repairs them. He works at the print shop, you know, and all the business people wind up there sooner or later, so he knows them all. I paid so little for the printer to begin with, even with the cost of the repair it was a bargain." Tess felt guilty for asking about it. She got up to leave. Then she couldn't help wondering about Alan and his job at the printer's. Could he have written the blackmail letters? But why would Angie, Rose or Alan do it? She'd begun to suspect everyone around her. "Tess, may I bring dessert, on Thursday? Blackberry and pumpkin pies?" Rose blushed again, prettily. Tess nodded. "That would be a great help. Thank you." ### Tess arrived home that afternoon in a terrible mood. She wished she hadn't walked into the big old house today, because it made her realize she was giving up on her girlhood dream again without trying it out--because Joe Latimer had broken her heart, of all the childish reasons. She remembered that Joe wanted her to name the house. She'd promised him she would come up with something. She sat in her kitchen and thought about possible names. All she came up with for the first few minutes were the names that she, Paige and Harry had brainstormed as possible magazine names. There were dozens of them, and they made her wince at the idea of going back to L.A. She visualized the Victorian, and the businesses it housed. Bookkeeping services, artwork, bath products, gifts, books, and the empty restaurant space. Some were useful, some were beautiful or luxurious, others nourishing. "Nourishing?" Tess shook her head. Then she realized she'd been making a mistake whenever she visualized the bakery. People didn't live on cookies and cakes. Bakeries sold bread too. She took a blank sheet of paper and began writing. Soon she had a simple menu worked up, for tasty, nourishing meals, foods that people would want to eat every day. "That's it," she told herself once she had the menu written out. It included sandwiches, breads, roast meats, salads, and a few savory soups that would keep well in a steam table. There would be a soup of the day, a salad of the day, and quiche or frittata as specials. By the time she had the menu worked out she was wide awake, and excited. Tess was suddenly impassioned by the idea of the business. It would mean working within
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proximity of Joe Latimer, doing business with him. In spite of that, maybe it was worth a try, at least for the grand opening. Then she could leave if it didn't work out. That was when the phone rang. It was Rose. "Tess, I forgot to tell you earlier, Karen Jensen came by the school library to see me this morning. She asked if I'd be hiring anyone to help out in the book shop. I hated having to turn her down, but there's no way I'll have enough work to hire anyone for some time. I thought about you, though. I didn't say anything to her because I didn't want to get her hopes up. Are you likely to hire someone to wait tables, if you decide to make a go of the bakery?" "I would have to. As a matter of fact, Rose, I have reconsidered. I've decided to cook for the grand opening, and see how it goes." She told Rose about the menu she'd devised. Rose was delighted. "Joe will be so happy." That was not what Tess needed to hear. "Well. I'll keep Karen in mind." She wondered why Karen had quit her job at Stoneway, if she still wanted one. Tess sat down at the table again and looked over her menu. Cedar Creek's only restaurants were currently at Stoneway, which was outside of town by a couple of miles. There was no convenient place right in town for people to eat. The only restaurant in Wilder was the diner whose coffee Tess couldn't swallow a few mornings ago. Dr. Lloyd had said he didn't know how they stayed in business, and Tess knew the old lodge near Wilder had been closed for years. It was possible her ideas would work, that they'd even bring in substantial business. Tess began free associating: art, house, gifts, books, bath, bookkeeping, and bakery. They were all cottage businesses. They were all creative or constructive in their own way. Creativity Cottage. Tess shook her head. Then she wrote a name in the center of a sheet of paper and looked at it for a few minutes: Cottage Arts. She went to the phone and called Joe's office. When Joe came to the phone, Tess simply said, "Cottage Arts." He was silent for a minute. Then he said, "I like it. By the way, we're getting a yarn shop. A woman came by and spoke to Rose about it this morning. I just called her. She's going to sign a lease this afternoon. I don't know anything about yarn, myself. I do know a thing or two about sheep. . ." Tess grinned to herself. "It's perfect, it fits right in." "I'm glad you think so. I'm arranging for us to all meet tomorrow morning, in the restaurant space, to work out our plan for the grand opening. Can you be there at nine to present your name idea to the group?" "Yes."
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"Great. I'll see you then." Tess smiled to herself after their brief conversation. Then, when she realized how much she looked forward to the meeting tomorrow morning, partly because it meant seeing Joe, she was disgusted with herself all over again for letting him get to her. The phone rang then. "This is Duane," the caller said. It took her a moment to realize Duane was Deputy Prescott. "I thought you'd want to know the latest on the investigation into your family's crash. The lab confirmed today that one of the front tires was cut, through the side wall, with a sharp object, something with a double-edged blade. Because of the way it was damaged, and the skid marks, the forensics people think the van was moving at the time it happened. It doesn't appear to have been any ordinary road hazard or debris." It took Tess a moment to speak. She sat down on the kitchen stool. "Something with a double-edged blade? Are you saying someone threw a knife at their van while they were moving? That's too bizarre, isn't it?" "Something like a knife struck the tire's side wall, but I'm not saying it was a knife. We don't know what it was. There was nothing found at the scene that could've caused that kind of damage." "They were murdered then?" The idea still stunned her. "Until we know what caused the damage, we won't know for certain, but it's looking more and more suspicious. I'm going to need to ask you, and others who knew them, further questions. We'd also like you to take a good look at their personal effects, see if there's anything there that raises questions for you. Are you available tomorrow? I can bring them out there." She told him she'd be at Cottage Arts tomorrow morning, that she didn't know how long she'd be. He offered to meet her there, and she described where it was. "My father's cane is still missing. Did you find that?" He consulted his report of items found in the wreckage and told her there was no cane listed. Chapter 13 Tess was more anxious than ever, after her phone call from the deputy, unable to stop thinking her family may have been deliberately killed. She wondered if she would have the courage to stay here, if the grand opening proved to her that she could make her business idea work. She decided to bring refreshments to the meeting, in the morning, to give everyone a sample of the fare she'd offer for the grand opening. She made a pot of barley beef soup and baked a few varieties of sweet bread, along with more of the snow angel cookies.
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Tess had invited Paige and Harry for dinner, and they sampled the soup as a first course. Both immediately voiced their approval. "You know we'll scarf up anything you cook," Paige told her. Harry rolled his eyes. "The connoisseur speaks. It's delicious, Tess." "Thank you. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me move some things from here over to Cottage Arts tomorrow afternoon. There's a lot to do there in the next week, and it will help clear space here for my Thanksgiving dinner preparations." "Sure. What kinds of things?" Paige asked. "Utensils, pots, pans, dishes. Staples. I need to get set up for the grand opening, start preparing some things ahead. The cupboards are bare in that kitchen. Rose offered to help too." Though they'd agreed on the soup, the three of them couldn't come to any decision at all about the blackmail letters. Paige was morose during the meal, and Tess suspected it had something to do with her decision to help with the grand opening. Harry finally suggested they wait until after Tess's holiday gathering on Thursday to make a decision. "Let's spend Friday together. Then we'll decide once and for all, to go to the sheriff or not." ### Early Wednesday morning Tess baked whole grain rolls, and tossed a salad of spinach, bacon, and chickpeas. She made honey-Dijon dressing to go with the salad, and packed these, along with her pot of soup, into her rental car to take to the meeting at the old Victorian house. "Cottage Arts," Tess said to herself as she got out of her car and smiled up at the house. She felt incredibly happy. This effort was the one bright patch in the clouds that had hung over her since her family's deaths, except for a few stolen hours with Joe. Laura was already at work when Tess carried everything in and began setting up. She kept coming down to peek at the activity in the kitchen and dining space. By the time the others arrived Tess had three tables pushed together and a tablecloth over them. The island counter was set up buffet style, with a matching tablecloth, dishes, cutlery, and the food she'd prepared, along with coffee and tea. She'd made a centerpiece out of some colorful gourds and a small pumpkin from the local market. Laura entered the dining room first. "There are luscious smells coming out of this kitchen. Tess, you're amazing!" Soon five business people gathered at the table in the dining room, and Rose introduced Megan Thomas, who'd leased space for her yarn shop. Neither Joe nor Jessica Laine had arrived yet. When Joe failed to turn up by nine, Rose apologized and said she'd run across the street and find out what was delaying him. Tess offered to go instead. "You all represent the committed businesses here. I'm still wavering. Start your meeting, and I'll run over and remind Joe of the time." She'd already
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told them about her proposed name, Cottage Arts, and they were discussing it as she left, getting acquainted with the sound of it. Tess hurried across the street. The door to the veterinary office was unlocked, and the open sign was out. Tess went into the front room and glanced around. There were chairs and a bench in the front room, and a counter as a reception desk. A woman sat behind it, at a narrow desk with a computer, a laser printer, a hi-speed printer with billing forms feeding through it, and two telephones. The space behind the desk was filled with file cabinets and storage cabinets, as well as a small refrigerator. One woman sat in the small waiting area. So far Joe appeared to have more business than Dr. Lloyd. Tess was about to ask the woman at the reception desk if Dr. Latimer was in, when the door to an inner room opened and Joe came out with a teenage boy and a golden retriever puppy on a lead. Joe wore a white lab coat, and he grinned as he spoke to the boy, and then his mother who'd been waiting out here. Joe took some forms over to the reception desk and got the billing process started. Finally he smiled at Tess and glanced at his watch. "I'm late, aren't I? Let me wash up, and I'll be right over." He returned to the back room, leaving the door open. Tess glimpsed a row of cages and kennels where sick or postoperative pets must spend the night sometimes. Tess caught sight of two kittens housed together in a cage. One kitten was pure white and the other pure black. Both were fluffy little fur balls, as sweet as any creature she'd ever laid eyes on. She had to get a closer look at them. She followed Joe in. He'd removed the lab coat and was scrubbing his hands at the sink at the far end of the room, his back to her. When he finished and turned around to find her enraptured by the kittens, he laughed. "Uh-oh, that looks like love." "They're so precious!" Tess only glanced his way, mesmerized by the kittens, who played together, leaping around and tumbling over each other in the cage, a couple of furry little clowns. The black one looked up, saw Tess watching, and came over to gaze at her and greet her with a soft mew. "Ohh. . ." Tess had just raised her hand to touch the tiny paw the kitten pressed to the side of the cage, when Joe drew her away, taking her hand in his. "Come on, we have a meeting." He spoke in an indulgent tone, and he continued to hold her hand as they crossed the street. "Joe, do they have a home?" He stopped inside the front door of the old house and turned to her, then looked down at her hand in his. Tess pulled her hand from his, but kept her eyes on him, waiting for an answer. "They're spoken for, yes." He watched her face. "What if they weren't?"
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"I'd--" She stopped herself short of saying she would adopt them, or buy them, or whatever she had to do to make them a part of her life. "Well, if they're spoken for, there's no sense in--" "That's not what I asked." He was teasing now. "I'd want to take them home with me, today." She smiled. "Right this minute." "Both of them?" "Yes. You're right, I fell in love." His smile broadened at her confession, and he steered her into the bakery. "Happens to me on a regular basis." Joe walked into the dining room and sat down beside Jessica, who'd arrived while Tess was across the street. Jessica clasped one of Joe's hands between her own. He removed his hand from her grasp a short time later, but it was too late for Tess to get any kind of comfort from his action, and she reminded herself again that the two were engaged. She promised to keep reminding herself of that fact, every ten minutes or so, if necessary. "Here's a seat for you, Tess," Alan said helpfully. She sat beside him, and tried to keep her mind, and her gaze, off Joe and Jessica during the meeting. Alan was having his flyers printed up and distributed in Cedar Creek and Wilder, to announce the grand opening. The group had placed an ad in the Wilder newspaper for the next few weeks, and Alan had a copy of the latest issue with him. He opened it to the full-page ad and placed it in the center of the table, along with a copy of the flyer. "Next Friday morning we open at nine o'clock sharp." "Nine?" Jessica said. "Can you be here that early, Jessica?" Laura asked. Jessica bristled at the question. "I can open my business any time I want. Tell them, Joe." Joe leaned back, raising his hands. "Don't look at me. I'm the landlord. I'll be across the street in my own office." Jessica turned to Laura. "I'll be here. Make sure you're ready, Laura." Alan spoke up. "Jess, Laura has an established client base, and in fact many of my first walk-ins have been her clients. You may find the same thing, once your shop opens, that her clients become some of your first customers. We need to work together to pull this off."
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Jessica toned down the petulant little-girl act, while Joe sat beside her appearing to ignore the episode. The food Tess had prepared went quickly, and most of the others supported her ideas about what to serve for the opening. When the meeting broke up, Alan offered to help Tess clear dishes from the table and wash up. "No need." She did want to get outside soon, though. The sky was clouding up, and she had a date with a bridge she wanted to sketch before it got too stormy, she told him. He laughed and stayed to help. "Alan, are you still a Pagan?" she asked him while they were drying dishes. He hesitated before answering. "Yes, why?" "You used to have a ceremonial knife. I remember you kept it on an altar in your room. It had a double-edged blade. What was it called?" "An athame," he said with a nod, pronouncing it ath-a-may. "What about it?" Tess shrugged. She'd been thinking about the cause of the tire damage on her family's van. She wasn't sure how to tell him this without offending him. Alan hung the towel he'd been using on the rack, took out his wallet, and opened it to show her a picture of his son, Tyler. "When we divorced, his mother started making trouble about my beliefs. She tried to make out that I was an unfit father, and she didn't want Tyler exposed to what she referred to as my alternate lifestyle. Maybe I should've fought it. It was based on pure bigotry, but she gave me a scare, you know? I didn't want to take any chance of losing custody or visiting rights with Tyler, so I decided I could practice my beliefs without using the physical trappings. I gave my athame away, along with a lot of other things. I don't keep anything more involved than a pinecone and a vase of flowers on my altar anymore, things people don't relate exclusively to Paganism." He put his wallet away, and watched Tess for a minute. "What's up, Tess? You had to have a reason for asking about that." She still hesitated to answer. "Look, Tess. I know Angie's been trying to throw us together, whatever her reasons are, and I've figured out you're not interested in me romantically. I don't have to be beaten over the head to understand that. We started out as friends, though. I like to think we still are. What's going on?" "The sheriff thinks my parents and brother were murdered." Tess described the damage to their front tire.
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Alan looked thoughtful for a moment. "So you wondered if I threw a knife at their tire? Why would I want to hurt them?" "I'm exploring all the possibilities, Alan. I can't figure out how that kind of damage could have been done to their tire. What the deputy described is an unusual type of blade. Your athame is the only thing like it I've ever seen, except in television or movies." He nodded. "Fair enough. Most athames have dull blades. They're not intended for cutting. I sharpened mine, I was unusual in that regard, but I don't own it anymore." She nodded, meeting his gaze. "If there's any way I can help you, Tess, will you let me know?" She thanked him, and invited him to her Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. They were finished with the dishes. "I'm going to take off and sketch that bridge. Later I have some things at home to transfer over here for the grand opening. Supplies, utensils, dishes. Things I need out of the way for my holiday dinner. Rose, Paige and Harry promised to help me move them this afternoon." Alan grinned. "Few men can say they've been dismissed in favor of a bridge. It's a nice bridge. Don't be too long there, though. We've a storm on the way. Maybe I'll drop by your place later, to see if you need another hand moving things. As a friend. Would you mind?" "Not at all. Thank you, Alan." "Any time." He added more soberly, "Be careful, okay? I mean, if someone killed them. . ." They were both on their way to the door when Deputy Prescott entered the dining room, carrying a cardboard box. He greeted Tess, and placed the box on a table. Then he looked around the kitchen and dining area with a sober expression while he waited for Alan to leave. "These are your folks' things," Duane Prescott told Tess after Alan went upstairs. He nodded toward the box. "I need to have you sign for them. Then we'd like you to go through them as soon as you get a chance. We've pretty much exhausted what we can get from them, but you may find something meaningful." Before he left he asked, "Do you know of anyone who might've wanted to hurt them--or you?" She hesitated, thinking about the blackmail letter, but she didn't know who'd written it, and she and her partners still hadn't agreed on giving it to the sheriff. "I don't know who would do any of this, but I'll go through these things, right after the holiday." Deputy Prescott gave her a long look, as if sensing she was holding back. She explained to him she was on her way out. He nodded, and offered to carry the box out to her car.
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Alan was right about the weather. It had turned gray, cold and blustery. This disappointed Tess, but she decided to stick with her plans. At her car, the deputy reminded her again to go through the box of her family's things, and to call him if anything came up. She nodded, thanked him and drove home. Chapter 14 Tess carried the box from the sheriff into the house and took it upstairs to her studio. She tucked it into the cabinets where she'd stored away all her family's other personal belongings. Stacked there, with the boxes and boxes of their things, it would be safe until she was ready to take a look at it sometime in the next couple of days. It would have to wait until after Thanksgiving. She closed the cabinets and stood looking around the room, disturbed that she still couldn't face her family's belongings. Those boxes haunted her, even concealed from view behind the cabinet doors. She would take either Rose or Angie up on their offers to help go through them, after Thanksgiving. Tess couldn't face them today, especially alone. On an impulse, she placed the cheval mirror in front of one cabinet door, and then moved the chintz-covered slipper chair over beside it. She went to her room and found the large, lightweight, fringed silk shawl she'd had Paige bring along with her holiday dresses. It was a deep, rich, Russian rose print with black fringe, and it was large enough to conceal the remaining cabinet doors. Tess hung it over them, then stood back and looked at the facade she'd created. The shawl added warmth and color to the large room, in contrast with its bright windows and pale decor. Hiding from reality again, Tess? She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, trying to forget she was here to say goodbye to her family, to dispose of their things, and to make decisions about her life. Tess had planned to pick up her sketching supplies and then go straight to the stone bridge, but now she remembered Paige's message from Debbie about her voice mail. She dropped some art supplies into a tote bag. Then she went to the kitchen, picked up the cordless phone, and dialed the number and code for her personal voice mail. There was one old message, dated the morning of her family's deaths. Her father's voice. She hadn't heard it in a year or more. He sounded hesitant, unsure, which she'd never known her father to be. "Tess, sweetheart, it's Dad. I need to talk to you. About a lot of things, but especially . . . well, something you might be able to help with. We're going to see the sheriff this morning. We'll be back by the time you get home and hear this message. Please call me, honey. Call home." From the date and time of the message Tess knew her father must've recorded it minutes before they'd left on their fatal drive. Tess thought about Dr. Lloyd's question, of whether her father had contacted her shortly before his death. Dr. Lloyd had thought his call would have something to do with Trent, but what had her father known about Trent? Only what she'd told him, and he hadn't believed her. So why would he see the sheriff about that? Was that the reason her family had died? Did Trent have something to do with their deaths?
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She took her art supplies out to the car, but came back in to check the weather report, because the wind was blowing harder now, and the sky had turned a dark, metallic gray. The report predicted a snowstorm tomorrow, but it felt to Tess as if it might come tonight. The day was taking a definite stormy turn. She layered on warm clothes, insulated boots, a knitted hat, mittens, and a parka. Finally she ventured out into the blustery gray and got into her car. Minutes later Tess parked near the old stone footbridge that crossed Cedar Creek a halfmile or so north of town. She carried her tote bag filled with drawing supplies and crossed on foot to the middle of the bridge, where she stood and gazed upstream at the rush of water. Snow-shrouded trees and dead bracken crowded the banks of the stream, a few bare branches twisting frozen into the metallic sky. The small flood leaped over rock and boulders, and around the curving banks, roiling with a wild life of its own, as yet undaunted by winter's freeze. This was a sight once familiar to Tess. This was where she'd conceived many of her childhood dreams. Here, standing on this bridge, watching this creek's unending flow, she had grown into a young woman. This creek was home, and Tess wanted to carry the spirit of it with her if she left again. She had come here intending to sketch the bridge itself, from the bank of the creek, but instead she took out her sketchbook and pencils and set to work attempting to capture the essence of Cedar Creek as she saw it from the bridge. Tess poured all her concentration into the task. Now and then her fingers grew so cold she couldn't grasp a pencil properly. She would stop, put on her mittens and hold her hands under her arms until her fingers warmed enough to continue. She kept up this cycle until she had the beginnings of a decent drawing in front of her. Her passion intensified with this visible product of her efforts, and she worked faster in the growing cold. The water moved on the page, and Tess smiled to herself, releasing a sigh of indescribable pleasure, which ended in a shiver. She took out her watercolors, recorded the colors and made notes for a painting she would complete later in the warmth of her studio. "That looks like cold work," Joe's deep voice said nearby. Tess dragged her attention from her work and turned to meet his gaze. He stood at one end of the bridge, watching her with a placid, weary, expression. He moved closer. "Wouldn't it be simpler to take a photograph? It would save freezing your fingers at least." His own fingers, gloved warmly, were thrust into his jacket pockets. His black hair blew in the wind and his eyes were a limitless gray-green under the leaden sky. Tess longed to draw him as he stood there, but the idea was to forget him, not have a portrait of him haunting her forever. He moved to her side and looked over her shoulder at the drawing. "How long have you been here?" Tess asked him. "Long enough to realize there must be something special about this place, to make you want so desperately to capture it." "I used to come here to think when I was a girl. I would spend hours watching water run under this bridge."
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"I know." Tess looked up at him. "You weren't the only one who took to following another youngster around." "You followed me? Here?" "Many times." He looked at the water as he spoke, and he reminded Tess suddenly of that young, dark-haired boy. He took the sketchpad from her, picked up her mittens and handed them to her. "Why are you doing this, Tess?" Tess pulled the mittens on and tucked her hands under her arms, hugging herself against another shiver. "I want to record a bit of home to take back with me, in case I go away and never return. Something to help me remember all the good things that came out of growing up here." He frowned. "You intend to leave? And never come back?" Tess stared at the water foaming noisily over a boulder, as she answered him, thinking she could almost see the water slow, turning to ice. "I don't have definite plans yet. I've told you that." Her voice shook, and she shivered. "I want to stay, but I need a good reason. Dreams aren't enough to keep me here. I have a business in L.A. Responsibilities. My family's gone." She shivered again. "You've been out here too long," Joe said gruffly. "Go home and get warmed up before you make yourself sick. You'll have other days to finish this thing, if it's so important, won't you? You're not leaving this week." Tess stood silent, watching him as he packed her things away for her. He took the pencil out of her hand, and dropped it into the bag as he handed it to her. "Do you mind if I come with Rose, to your Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?" "Please do, Joe. I want all my friends there." He watched her for another few seconds. Then he gave her a gentle shove toward her car as if she were a child. "Go home and warm up." Tess obeyed, because she was too chilled to argue. When she'd reached the relative shelter of her car, out of the bitter wind, she looked back to see Joe still there. He leaned against the railing, watching the swift-running water of Cedar Creek. As she drove away, Tess glanced in the rearview mirror, and saw a red snowmobile take off from the nearby woods and head in the same direction she was going, the sound of its engine muffled by the gusting wind. It alarmed her at first, but the snowmobile veered off into the woods again. ###
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Tess was in the kitchen at her house, still feeling the effects of the cold, when Rose arrived to help her transfer food and utensils to Cottage Arts. Rose smiled as she repeated the name. "I love it, Tess. As soon as Joe told me the name you came up with, I thought how wonderfully it fits what we're doing there. We never would've come up with Cottage Arts, without you. But I will be so relieved when the stress of this grand opening is over with." She turned to look through the items they needed to move. "Who was on the snowmobile?" "What snowmobile?" Tess's mind went instantly to the one she'd seen at the bridge. "The one leaving your driveway when I arrived. I couldn't tell who it was. They were all bundled up and wearing a ski mask under their helmet. They sped off as I drove up." Rose shrugged. "Maybe they took a wrong turn or something." "Was it bright red?" "No, it was dark blue, I think, with a white stripe." "They must be out in droves today. You wouldn't think it would be that much fun in this weather." But then Tess had stood on a cold bridge and bared her fingers to sketch, so who was she to judge? Still, the thought of the snowmobiles disturbed her after the strange destruction of her snow angels the other night. "They're always out in droves, here, once the snow gets this deep. That just doesn't usually happen until after Christmas." Before they set to work, Tess offered Rose a cup of hot tea. "I need it myself, before I go out there again. I'm about frozen." Rose thanked her and accepted the tea. "Harry called, and told me he and Paige will be here to help. Jessica showed up again, right before I left, looking for Joe. She was positively rude to me when I told her I didn't know where he was. He's not at his office, or Cottage Arts, and his pager's sitting on our kitchen table at home. That's the third time in three days he's vanished like that." "I just saw him down by the stone footbridge." Tess poured her own tea. "I wouldn't have told Jessica that, if I'd known. I've had it with her possessiveness. These are ready to load into my car." Rose had finished packing things from Tess's freezer into a box. Tess carried her tea over to join Rose at the table. Rose peered into a tin of cookies there. "Oh!" Rose cried out. She beamed at Tess. "They're snow angels!" Paige and Harry arrived in time to help load Rose's car. Rose insisted on showing them the snow angel cookies before she drove away with the first load for Tess's bakery. Then Harry and Paige loaded Paige's rental car, with Tess's help, and followed Rose. Tess moved her car around to the back, planning to follow the others to Cottage Arts as soon as she loaded the last box of dishes into her car.
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On her way into the kitchen through the back door, Tess heard what she thought must be the snowmobile Rose had seen earlier. It was barely audible over the rising wind. She returned to the kitchen and rushed to finish her task, packing baking tins into a cardboard carton. She'd just finished when the back door opened behind her, blowing in cold air. Tess turned around, not expecting anyone back. She froze. The person who stood in the doorway wore a ski mask. A black parka, gloves, black snow pants, and sneakers sheathed what she was sure was a male form. She could only see his eyes. "You really should lock your doors." He closed and locked the door, turned the deadbolt. "You made this way too easy." Chapter 15 Tess was certain she recognized the voice behind the mask as Trent Cambridge, but it had been so long since she'd heard him speak, except for two words at Stoneway the other night, she couldn't be sure. He was the right height, though. He moved toward her. Tess stood motionless, unable to think, unable to breathe. The phone on the counter rang. Tess and the man in the ski mask both stared at it. When Tess reached for it, he moved faster, and grasped her arm tightly before she could reach the phone. "If I don't answer--" "They'll think you've already left. You were about to leave, weren't you?" She tried to shake off his grip, and it tightened. "What do you want?" Her voice was ragged with fear. The phone kept ringing, until the answering machine clicked on. The volume was turned down, so Tess couldn't hear whether the caller left a message. Afterward the silence in the kitchen was profound, with the sound of their breath prominent. The man continued to hold Tess's arm in an iron grip. Tess didn't know what to say that would persuade him to leave her alone, so she said nothing. She tried to think of a way out. She thought of the knives in the kitchen drawer at the end of the counter. Could she get to one? If she did, could she use it against him, could she fight him off, and then grab the phone on her way out? It was the cordless phone Paige had brought for her from L.A. The man in the ski mask had other ideas. He grasped both her hands firmly with his leather gloves, and he led her quickly out through the dining room, away from the phone and the knives, while Tess struggled in vain to get out of his grasp. He paused to pull a length of rope out of his jacket pocket, and she struggled harder while he held her with only one gloved hand. She'd nearly slipped one wrist out of his grasp, when he hit her with his open hand, slapping her face. She kept fighting. When she managed to free one hand he cursed, then he knocked the wind out of her with a single, controlled punch to her solar plexus. Tess doubled over, gasping for breath, while he tied her wrists with the rope, so tightly the knots pinched her skin and cut off her circulation.
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He used the remaining length of the rope to lead her into the living room and over to the stairs, while she tried to kick him. He paused and laughed when he looked up at the stairs. "Oh, this is perfect." Tess kicked him hard, then. He cursed and moved away. "You're going to force me to stop you from doing that." He continued to fight off her kicks as he led her to the stair railing. She saw what he intended to do now, to tie her to the stair banister. Tess struggled with her bonds and her captor, while her heart sank at the realization that she'd nearly lost her chance of escape. If he managed to secure her to the sturdy hardwood railing, all the kicking she could manage wouldn't free her. The front door was so close now, she decided to try for escape by that route. When he moved up the stairs, trying to guide her in the same direction along the lower floor so he could get the end of the rope around the railing, with her legs out of reach to kick him, she tried to yank him off balance, back down the stairs. Failing that, she managed to creep around the newel post and up the stairs behind him, then attempted to kick his feet out from under him on the stairs. She succeed in pulling one foot from under him, and he cursed again, then sat on the step to keep from falling, and stared at her. She could see only his eyes, behind the ski mask, but she was certain he was Trent. "You little bitch!" A sound outside drew their attention. Another snowmobile approached the front of the house. He glanced that way, then got up and struck Tess in the face with his fist, knocking her aside. "I don't have time for this!" He yanked her back to the bottom of the stairs. He was breathing hard now, they both were, and Tess could sense his anger. It lay like a low snarl beneath each breath he exhaled. It frightened her, as she continued to fight him. As he pulled her to the bottom of the stairs, she kicked at him again, but this time he used her own trick against her, grasping her leg and pulling it hard out from under her, at the same instant as he let go of the rope. She went down backwards, too hard, and landed with a smack of her skull against the bottom step. "No," she moaned. It was as though Tess kept falling, into a sickening blackness. Tess's next awareness was at first only of the pain in her head, and she groaned, which made it hurt more. Any attempt at movement hurt. She lay on her back, her arms extended above her head, ending in numbness, which she realized gradually was her hands, their sensation cut off by the rope that bound them. The pain in her head was enough to nearly shut out sound. It muffled everything. Every sound, every sensation was subject to the pain. She remained still, until someone touched her. She couldn't see. Her captor was tying a blindfold roughly over her eyes. "You should've left town while you had the chance."
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She let him think she was still unconscious. The snowmobile continued to circle outside, its sound assaulting her senses in sickening waves. Her captor moved away from her and opened the front door. The wind blew into the house, freezing the air around Tess, rousing her a little. The snowmobile tore around out front, and her captor shouted, cursing. At her? No, he'd gone outside. He continued yelling, while the door remained open, letting in freezing gusts of wind. The yelling hurt her head so much Tess couldn't take in what he said. Something about "around back" and "what we came here for." She shivered in the cold from the door, and prayed silently for help. She had a feeling the new arrival had stopped her captor from finishing what he'd started, and now he was distracted by the newcomer. Tess said a silent thank you, while the sound of the snowmobile moved to the back of the house. A moment later her captor's voice came from the kitchen. Tess heard someone going through drawers in there, and then smashing things. The man's voice said, "Do what we came here to do!" in a hissing rush. "There may not be much time." The sound of the snowmobile's engine had ceased. When had it stopped? Tess's head swam, and confusion swept through her like a wave of nausea. She felt ill, and wondered if she'd lost consciousness again for a moment. The cold wind still gusted through the front door, and she wondered if she would freeze lying here. She no longer heard her captor or the newcomer. A moment later, Tess heard soft footsteps go past her, up the stairs. The next sound Tess heard was the phone ringing. It stopped abruptly with the sound of something being smashed, in the kitchen. She could only imagine what was going on in there, as the banging and crashing noises continued. Someone returned, and stood beside her. Tess grew panicky once more. Then she heard them move away. Tess couldn't feel her hands anymore. They were completely numb. Her arms ached, stiff from lack of movement. The front door was still open, the cold wind blew more steadily now. She might as well be in front of a freezer. She shivered, and somehow the shivering hurt her head. Long minutes passed, and Tess heard the sounds of someone moving through the rooms above her. Spence's room. Other sounds continued downstairs. Someone walked past her, and her panic escalated again, but they moved about nearly silently, never touching her, never saying a word as they opened and closed drawers in the living room. The hall closet opened, and things were thrown out. Then noises came from the study. Drawers opened, things were tossed around. Minutes later someone passed her again, and seconds after that Tess heard more destruction in the kitchen. Suddenly a shout came, from above, a single word, "Car!" It was the man in the ski mask's voice. The noises in the kitchen stopped. Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Someone ran past Tess and slammed the front door shut, then tore off her blindfold. Tess blinked at the light and saw the man in the ski mask, with a knife. He was directly above her, his
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gaze cold. With one finger to his lips, he brandished the knife threateningly. Then he used it to cut the rope that bound her hands to the newel post. He cut the remaining rope from her wrists, and stuffed it into his pocket. All Tess could manage was to continue to lie on the floor, sobbing faintly while he did this. She couldn't feel her hands, and her arms were too stiff to move. He pointed the knife at her again as he spoke. "Now you'll leave, and you'll pay." His words carried a distinct threat that struck her cold, and made her want to shrink from his gaze. He dropped an envelope on the floor beside her and ran out in the direction of the kitchen. A snowmobile started up, and the sound moved off through the woods behind the house. Tess moved, slowly and with great effort, bending her stiff arms, and rubbing her wrists against her legs to start the blood back into her numb hands. The renewed sensation, as it started, was too much for her. She cried out. Then she sat up unsteadily, shivering, uncertain what to do. That was when the doorbell rang. Tess shivered, teeth chattering, limbs uncooperative. The doorbell rang again. She stood up unsteadily, and her legs wobbled as she moved. "Tess?" someone called, outside the front door. She hadn't heard his car, but it was Alan's voice. Tess cried, sobbing suddenly in relief. Now she heard an engine out front, and recognized the sound of Joe's truck coming up the driveway. Shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, she barely managed the few steps from the stairs to open the door. It must not have been locked, though, because Alan opened it as she reached it. He opened it slowly, then stood for a few seconds and stared at her. "Tess, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Alan looked as confused and shocked by her appearance as she felt. She shook, sobbing and barely able to hold herself upright, while Alan stood in the doorway, the cold wind blowing in around him. He finally moved, closed the door and put his arms around her, his jacket so cold it prickled her bare skin on her face and neck and almost made her scream. Alan guided her into the living room, where he urged her onto the sofa. "It's okay. It's okay. What happened to you?" The front door opened, and Joe came in. "Tess?" Then he saw her, and he rushed over. He took her face gently in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Are you hurt? What's happened?" She shook with convulsive sobs and couldn't answer. He turned to Alan and said, "What the hell did you do to her?" "No!" Tess cried, afraid he was about to do Alan a grave injury. "He c-came t-to help," Tess said. "It--it--was someone else. Ski mask." Why couldn't she speak properly? She wasn't making sense. Her teeth chattered. Joe glanced around the living room, and told Alan to call the sheriff. Alan removed his cell phone clipped to his belt. As he pressed the number on the keypad he moved away, into the dining room, where Tess couldn't hear him. Joe sat beside Tess and held her. "I need t-to--"
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"Shh, sit still. Tell me where it hurts." Joe examined the lump on the back of her head. Then he made her lie down and covered her with the afghan, and he sat beside her, holding her hand. When Alan returned, Joe had him get her an ice pack. Minutes later the front doorbell rang. Alan let Paige and Harry in, trying to explain how he'd found Tess, while they stared at her, and at Joe holding the ice pack to her head. He seemed to understand how much she hurt. He held her, and helped her hold the ice there, while everyone else seemed to demand answers she couldn't provide. "I don't know what's happened here," Alan murmured in the foyer. "The house is ransacked, but she hasn't said what happened." They entered the living room. "I called the sheriff. Is she all right, Joe?" Paige replaced Joe, and put her arms around Tess. Tess still couldn't stop shaking. She sat up carefully. "It was Trent," she finally said. "I'm sure it was Trent Cambridge, but he had a ski mask on." The sound of sirens outside silenced her. The sirens grew nearer, and Tess said no more. She would wait until the sheriff was listening, because she didn't want to tell the story more than once. Joe looked around at the others. "Where's Rose?" he asked, suddenly alarmed again. "Tess, wasn't Rose here with you?" "Rose went to C-cottage Arts," Tess told him. "She never showed up," Paige said beside her. Tess turned and stared at Paige. She didn't understand. Deputy Prescott arrived first. Sheriff Kendall followed minutes later. They both knew Joe, and they greeted one another by first names. Rose arrived seconds after the sheriff did, looking bewildered as she came in the door. Harry went over to her. "Where have you been, Rose?" "I--" Rose looked at Tess. "I heard sirens. What's going on? Tess? Why are the police here?" "Okay," Sheriff Kendall said, taking charge. "This is way too many people. Duane, take names and clear them all out while I talk to Ms. Hunter." Chapter 16 "The sheriff suggested I pack a few of your things, and he'll drive you to the hospital. After you get checked out there, you can stay with me at Stoneway," Paige told Tess. "There are two beds in my room."
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Tess had described what happened to the sheriff and deputy, who were going through the house while Paige sat with Tess in the living room. Joe had insisted Paige be allowed to stay with her, and that she get medical attention. "I don't need to go to the hospital." Tess suppressed a shudder, wondering how she would ever get the house ready for guests by tomorrow. According to Paige the kitchen wasn't fit to cook in. "I'm not going to cancel Thanksgiving. I won't let them do that to me." "The sheriff's worried you may have been raped while you were unconscious, if it was Trent Cambridge. Apparently it's a pattern of his." Tess shook her head. "He wasn't here to rape me. He wanted something he thought he'd find in this house." "In any case, Joe says you should get your head checked out. You have a huge goose egg, and--I don't want to hurt your feelings, but--you haven't been making a whole lot of sense since we all got here. Listen to the professionals. Joe's obviously concerned, and he knows about these things." "Joe's a veterinarian. This is a human goose egg." Her voice seemed to have developed a permanent quiver. "You need to give them the blackmail letters." Tess nodded agreement. She'd been telling herself she needed to do that before Trent had come here today. Paige was silent for a minute. Then she sighed. "All right, Harry and I will stay here with you tonight. We'll clean up the house, and we'll help you with your dinner tomorrow. Provided you get checked out by a doctor right now." The sheriff and Paige helped Tess out to a car, and a female deputy drove her to the hospital. Paige followed in her rental car. ### It was another four hours before Tess returned to the house with Paige, and it was nearly dark by now. Tess felt done in, but didn't dare tell anyone, since they were treating her like she'd shatter any minute as it was. She had too much to do. The sheriff asked Tess to walk through the house with him. "If you're feeling up to it." He frowned at her right eye, which was swollen and red, and seemed to grab and hold everyone's attention. "That's going to be a black eye by tomorrow," Sheriff Kendall remarked. Her head throbbed the entire time, and what Tess saw as she surveyed the house made her feel worse. The sheriff and Deputy Prescott questioned her again as they went through each room, starting upstairs. Her bedroom was a mess, all her belongings
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strewn across the floor, drawers open or thrown on the floor, clothing in a jumble. Every book had been removed from the bookshelves and tossed on the floor, the nightstands emptied. Bathroom toiletries had been knocked over or onto the floor. Tess couldn't tell from the mess whether anything was missing or not, but she was certain the two people had been searching for something. "They went to Spence's room first, when they came up here." Tess recalled the sounds and movements of the two people through the house. She referred to her attacker as the man in the ski mask, because each time she called him Trent the sheriff and deputy would stop to ask how she knew he was Trent. She couldn't explain how, but she knew. In Spence's room the bedspread was tossed off the bed and the rug beside it had been swept aside. It appeared someone had searched under the bed as well as the mattress, leaving each cocked to one side in a way that made Tess feel dizzy to look at it. The empty drawers and closet were thrown open. "What's missing?" Sheriff Kendall asked. "Nothing. I cleared out all his things days ago." Tess's studio had been tossed as well. Her work, drawings and paintings lay jumbled on the table and floor, but the furniture she'd placed in front of the cabinets hadn't been moved. The big shawl still hung across the cabinet doors, concealing them, while the unconcealed closet and drawers had been opened and their contents thrown onto the floor. The few boxes of her family's things Tess had stored in the closet were emptied and dumped out of the boxes onto the floor. Downstairs, the desk drawers and files in the study had been pulled out and rifled through, the books there given the same treatment as those upstairs. The piano bench and some small table drawers in the living room had been emptied, their contents scattered. The sideboard in the dining room had been dumped of papers, candles, place mats, tablecloths and napkins. The kitchen was the worst of it. Tess surveyed the mess in the kitchen, where someone had taken out their temper on everything in sight, including a set of antique stoneware crocks that Tess's mother had used as countertop canisters ever since Tess could remember. Flour, sugar, and various other foodstuffs coated the countertops, floor and cabinet surfaces. A carton of eggs had been dumped and smashed into a gooey mess in the middle of the floor, along with other food items from the refrigerator. The smell of vinegar permeated the room, from a broken jar of pickles. Broken glass and crockery littered everything, cutlery lay scattered about, and dishes had been broken. It would take hours to clean it all up, and Tess expected guests here for dinner tomorrow. Tess stood in the kitchen, feeling queasy. Then she rushed back to the dining room, where she breathed relief that her mother's heirloom china and silver were still inside the top of the china cabinet, untouched, although the contents of the cabinet's drawers had been tossed about.
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"They wasted a lot of time in that kitchen," Sheriff Kendall said. "If it was valuables they wanted, I doubt that would still be here." He indicated her mother's sterling teapot. "They may have been interrupted before they finished. Ms. Hunter, will you go through your family's things, as soon as possible, and let us know if you find anything missing, or anything unusual they may have been looking for?" "But the kitchen." The sheriff nodded toward the kitchen. "That was rage." He looked at Tess inquisitively. "I don't think that was Trent, if it was Trent in the ski mask," Tess told him. "I'm sure he was the one upstairs who yelled 'car' when Alan drove up. Meanwhile the other person was doing that to the kitchen." "Anything else?" Tess nodded, and told them about the blackmail letters she'd received. Then she described the envelope the man in the ski mask had dropped beside her before he left. "It's the same type of envelope those three blackmail letters came in." The deputy's pale blue eyes widened suddenly beneath his heavy lids. "Blackmail letters? I wondered about that envelope. It's not addressed, but the envelope is sealed." He went to collect it. Tess retrieved the other blackmail letters for them. Then she told them about her father's voice mail. The deputy wrote down the codes so he could retrieve and record the message when he returned to his office. Tess finally left through the dining room, and the deputy walked beside her. She turned back to him. "Sheriff Kendall mentioned that a snowmobile was seen in the area when my family's accident happened. Today, both these people were on snowmobiles. A red snowmobile followed me away from the footbridge this morning. A short time later Rose told me she saw a dark blue one with a white stripe, near the house." Deputy Prescott nodded, and made a note of it. Harry returned, looking anxious and bringing his luggage along with Paige's. He sat with Paige in the living room until the sheriff's people left. Harry insisted he would help take care of the mess. "You haven't seen the kitchen yet," Paige said. Tess feared the cleanup would take days. On his way out, Duane Prescott paused in the foyer and studied Tess. He looked concerned, and his thick moustache twitched, his heavy-lidded blue eyes open wider than usual. "You may remember more details as the shock wears off. If so, give me a call. I've written my home number there." He handed her a new card. "We'll pick up
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Cambridge and question him as soon as we can. The call's already out, but that doesn't guarantee we can hold him. You said the guy in the ski mask was wearing gloves, so that means any useful prints we found will belong to his accomplice. Unless they also wore gloves, which is likely." "Bloody hell!" This came from Harry, who'd entered the kitchen. He popped back into the living room, looking furious. "I'll take care of the kitchen, Tess. Stay out of there for now." Harry and Paige made tea, and then Harry wouldn't let either woman back into the kitchen until he'd cleaned up the mess. Long, silent minutes later, Tess was lying down on her bed upstairs, while Paige moved around the bedroom, straightening and putting away Tess's clothing. Tess sat up. "Would you like more tea?" Paige said. Tess shook her head. "They searched through my family's things, and I want to know why. Will you help me?" Page looked at her critically, and Tess was afraid she was about to tell her to lie back down and rest. Instead she said, "Oh hell, I can't stand this either. But you have to let me do the work. You can sit still and supervise." They went to the studio and Tess sat on the chintz-covered slipper chair, while Paige picked up the boxes from the closet that had been strewn on the floor. They went through one box at a time, looking at each item before Paige repacked it. Paige stacked each box in the closet again. Paige picked up the artwork and supplies that had been scattered on the floor. Then Tess had her take the big colorful silk shawl down from in front of the storage cabinets and move the cheval mirror and chair aside so she could get to the boxes stored there. Paige draped the shawl over the mirror and turned to stare at the cabinets with a wondering look. "I never would've known those were there. I bet your uninvited guests today didn't either." Tess didn't answer, embarrassed about hiding them from herself in her unwillingness to face her family's things. Paige removed the top, unmarked boxes containing Tess's mother's journals and her family's personal effects that had been returned by the sheriff, and set those aside. Then they located the boxes Tess had packed with Spence's things. She suspected the intruder today had headed toward Spence's room first for a reason.
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While Paige worked, Tess attempted to hear again, in her memory, all the intruders' movements, in chronological order. Instead she remembered something else, something like a dream, it was so fuzzy. She saw Spence, six years old, in his pajamas, leaning over the stair rail, asking Tess if she was okay. "Tess? Why are you crying?" In the memory, Tess looked up at him. "Go back to bed, Spence." "Tess?" Paige roused Tess from the memory. Tess shivered, shook her head, and came over to watch Paige open the first box from Spence's room. Paige peered at Tess critically. "Why don't you take a break? Let me continue this for a while." Tess shook her head. She was on a mission. She and Paige went through the first six boxes of Spence's things before Tess paused, stood up, and stretched. "Maybe I do need more tea." "Go ahead. This is going to take some time." Harry had made impressive progress on the kitchen. All the broken glass and crockery were swept up, the food debris as well. He'd scrubbed the floor, and was wiping down the cabinet doors when Tess entered. "Good, old, solid hardwood. They're barely scratched, in spite of their punishment with God knows what implement. Whoever did their number on this room was disturbingly vicious." Harry paused and studied her face. "Let me get you something. Not tea this time, I think. Ah, I know the thing. Wait here." He went to the pantry and brought out a bottle of old, single malt scotch. "Your father must have kept this for special guests. Shall I?" She nodded, and Harry poured them each a shot of the scotch. He raised his glass. "To friends, old and new, tried and true." "To friends." They clinked glasses and downed the scotch. A few minutes later, Paige called Tess from the head of the stairs. "You'd better come look at this." Tess and Harry hurried up the stairs. "What do you make of this?" Paige held up a woman's blouse. It was a color somewhere between butter and straw, with thin, delicate mother-of-pearl buttons. The fabric was lightweight--and badly torn.
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Tess took one look at it and froze. "Tess?" "Where did you find that?" Tess croaked. "In your brother's backpack, with his homework, of all places." Tess frowned and held her aching head. "Are you sure?" "The backpack has his name on it, and it was in a box you marked with his name. There are some--" "What is it?" Harry said. "It's a woman's blouse that's been ripped nearly apart," Paige said. "It's . . . it must be . . . what they were looking for," Tess said, her mouth dry. Paige looked intently at her. "Maybe you'd better sit down," she suggested, and Tess did, on the edge of the bed. "Why do you suppose your brother would have this? Do you know whose it is?" "It's mine," Tess said. "Yours?" Tess nodded. How had Spence gotten this? Why did he have it? "I thought--" Tess tried to recall what she'd done with it. Maybe that fact was lost in the memories her accident all those years ago had wiped from her mind. But no, this had happened two days earlier than her accident, and she remembered things after it. She remembered baking cookies for Spence. She felt as if her mind were slipping into a fog, and surely this wasn't the result of her bump on the head, or of drinking one shot of scotch, no matter how good or how old. She sat and said nothing, as she attempted to absorb this latest discovery. Her torn blouse, in Spence's backpack. Why? "Yours? I don't recognize it. How did it get torn like this?" Paige's words seemed to come from a long way away. "Tess? You're scaring me." Paige stood in front of Tess, demanding an answer. "Wait," Harry said quietly, firmly, putting his hand on Paige's arm and drawing her away. "I think we should call the sheriff back. Here. Let's not handle this anymore." He gestured toward the work table, and Paige lay the blouse on it. "There are some other things in the backpack. I'll put it here, too." Paige retrieved the backpack from where she'd been working. "Let's all go downstairs and I'll call the sheriff, shall I, Tess?" Harry said.
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Chapter 17 When Duane Prescott arrived Tess was seated on the floor in the study, going through the papers that had been left in chaos there. Harry was making dinner for the three of them, while Paige straightened the living room. Tess answered the door, and led the deputy up the stairs. "Did you see the snow, out front? They obliterated my snow angels again. That wasn't Trent--I mean it wasn't the first person, in the ski mask. It was his accomplice, on the second snowmobile." Upstairs, she pointed out the torn garment on the table in the studio. "I was wearing this blouse the night Trent Cambridge tried to rape me, eleven years ago. Trent ripped it when I fought him." Duane glanced at the blouse on the table, but didn't touch it yet. He got out his notebook. "What did you do with it, after the assault back then?" Tess sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not sure." He looked up. "You don't remember?" She shook her head and sighed. "I was angry. I wanted to tell my parents what he'd done, to show them that the boy they'd set me up with was a total loser. I was scared of Trent, and of the humiliation." She glanced at the deputy and sighed again. "I didn't make a lot of sense, at the time, even to myself. By the next morning I'd decided not to report it, not to tell my parents. I knew the blouse was ruined, I'd noticed that when I was running away from him. I don't remember what I did with it. I thought I threw it away." Duane sat in the chintz-covered slipper chair. "Okay, let's go through this step by step, from the beginning. Trent's assault on you. Where and when did it happen?" "Wait. There's something else. Earlier this afternoon, while Paige and I were going through the boxes, I tried to recall what I'd heard of the intruders' movements up here today, in Spence's room. I was thinking how sound carries in this house. I had this sudden flash. I remembered something from the night of my accident. Spence got out of bed. I remember him standing at the head of the stairs. He asked me why I was crying. I looked up at him, and I told him to go back to bed. That's all I remember, but I wonder if he saw something, if someone else was here." Duane watched her intently, a frown creasing his brow. "I'm sorry. I'm not helping, am I?" Tess started in on her account of Trent's attempted date rape, eleven years ago. It appeared to take the deputy a moment to realize she'd switched gears and to begin taking notes again. Tess was calmer now than she'd been earlier, and she didn't hesitate, but told the entire story quickly, in as much detail as she'd ever recalled. She'd tricked Trent, that night, and run away from his house into the woods.
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"I stayed with a friend that night. The next morning, I borrowed clothes to wear home, and I stuffed the blouse into my purse, to throw away later." When she finished, he continued writing for a moment. "Back to your accident. Do you remember any more about it now than you did in those first few days?" "No." "Just that bit about your brother?" "Yes." "You claimed back then that you wouldn't have left your brother. Remember?" "It's true. I wouldn't have." She was no less sure of that today than she'd been at seventeen. "I loved Spence. I was responsible for him that night. I took that seriously." "What if staying here in the house with him would've endangered him?" Tess looked at the deputy in amazement. "After hearing your account of Trent's attack, and your memory of your brother that night, it crossed my mind there might be another explanation for you leaving him alone, besides you going off to party." "Yes, I might have left him in order to protect him. That's the only reason anyone's offered that makes sense, but it doesn't explain why there were drugs and alcohol in my blood, or why Spence would have my blouse all these years later. I want to know why he did, and whether that has anything to do with why my family died." He nodded. "If this blouse is what the intruders were looking for today, then it's a good reason to suspect Trent was one of them. But who was his accomplice? Any ideas?" Tess shook her head. Duane donned gloves and placed the blouse in a bag. Then he picked up the backpack, opened it, and emptied out the rest of its contents: School books, a three-ring binder containing Spence's homework and class notes, and an English paper he'd written. The smaller zip pocket of the backpack contained two sets of keys, as well as a separate, single key. The deputy glanced inside the bag containing the blouse, and surveyed the other items on the table. "Which pocket was the blouse in?" Tess called Paige, who came up and told Duane that she'd found the blouse in the smaller pocket, with the keys. He thanked her in a dismissive way that spoke of the authority he didn't often make a show of, and Paige returned downstairs. "Do you recognize any of these keys, Tess?"
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One of the key rings held a key that looked identical to the house key Joe had given her on her first night home, and a metal tag with Spence's name on it. "I've never seen it before, but that has to be Spence's set. I don't know about the other key ring. There's something . . . familiar, but I can't place it." She reached out to touch the single remaining key, and he stopped her. He picked it up and held it closer, turning it over. "It isn't to anything in this house that I know of," Tess said. The deputy checked carefully through the rest of the backpack, and bagged all the items. Finally he got up and put all the paper bags in a box to take with him. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a sheet of paper. "That's a copy of the latest blackmail letter the intruder left here today." Tess unfolded the copy and read it. It contained instructions for delivering the $50,000 to a locker in a gym near the Sacramento airport. It further instructed her to tape the key to the locker under the counter in a women's lavatory at the airport, and which flight to take back to L.A. It reminded her to be on that flight and to pay the $50,000, or the blackmailer would send a letter to every major newspaper and TV station in the state on December first, relating the details of her accident eleven years ago. "I checked out the gym," he said. "It's one that allows day use for a minimal fee. Did you consider paying?" He watched Tess with a bland expression, but she sensed his curiosity. "Is that why you didn't report it earlier?" "I talked it over with my partners, and we all agreed the blackmailer might keep wanting more money. We don't have the resources to keep paying. We'd wind up bankrupting ourselves, and that would end our business more effectively than bad publicity. So why pay at all? My partners and I planned to discuss turning the letters over to you, after the holiday. I didn't think you could do anything about it either, but the repetitive letters worried me." He nodded. "It's like they thought you weren't taking them seriously, or they hadn't been noticed. Tends to make you worry what they'll do to get noticed." He stood up, taking the box. "We're still looking for Trent Cambridge. We'll notify you as soon as we have him in custody." Tess returned downstairs, where Harry and Paige were preparing dinner. They wouldn't let Tess help, and kept telling her to sit down. When the phone rang she answered, hoping for a distraction from the inactivity everyone insisted she needed. It was Joe, his voice strung tight with anxiety. "Tess, are you all right? Have you been to the hospital and back already?" "Yes. I have a concussion. I'm supposed to see Dr. Lloyd for a follow-up on Friday. Paige and Harry are doing the cleaning, here. They won't let me do anything." "Good. Take it easy. The sheriff questioned Rose for a long time, and she's clearly upset, but she won't talk about it. She still hasn't explained where she disappeared to after she left your house. Did she give you any indication?" "Only that she was headed for Cottage Arts."
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"I'm worried about her." This worried Tess too, as did his tone of voice. "Maybe Rose tried to call me. The phone rang twice, while they were here. I haven't checked--" She stopped, realizing the answering machine had been ruined. "That was me who called, both times. I let Paige and Harry into the restaurant. They told me Rose should've arrived before them, and they mentioned Rose had seen a snowmobile hanging around your place. I'd seen a red one follow you away from the bridge earlier, and I remembered Rose saw a snowmobile the morning of your family's accident." He paused. "That's why I drove to your house when I did. Well, I'm relieved you weren't hurt worse." His words, his low voice, and the concern he expressed brought all her feelings for him back to the surface. She didn't want that. "Tess, I--" "I--have to go. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Tell Rose, dinner's still on. Goodnight, Joe." She hung up. ### By morning the weather was worse. The wind was colder, the sky darker. The news reported a winter storm watch in effect for this part of the Sierras. It was expected to produce heavy snow sometime in the next twenty-four hours. "Are you sure you still want to do this?" Paige asked Tess at breakfast. "We could delay the dinner until after the storm. That would give you a couple of days to--" Paige broke off. "A couple of days for what? Today is Thanksgiving. I've already invited everyone. The food is ready to go, all I have to do is put the turkey in the oven. The house is clean again, thanks to you two. There's no point in delaying." "You make it sound more like an ordeal you need to get over with than something you'll enjoy." Tess thought about that. What was an ordeal, what she had trouble enduring, was the wait. The wait for dinner with her friends tonight, yes, but also the wait to know who was blackmailing her, who had killed her family, who had intruded on her life yesterday. The wait for justice, the wait for the chance to feel at peace again. Tess had taken a sleeping pill last night for the first time in her life. Today she kept reliving those minutes of panic, when the man in the ski mask had overpowered her. Where would this end? "Maybe we should pay them and leave," Paige said later. Tess looked up and saw Harry shake his head at Paige, signaling her not to talk about it.
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Tess got up and left the table. She went upstairs to her studio and sat on the bed. The open storage cabinets gaped at her, with all the boxes of her family's belongings, their whole lives, inside. She went over and closed the cabinet doors, moved the furniture in front of them, hung the Russian print shawl over them. Then she went downstairs and said she was going for a drive. "Alone?" Paige said. Tess didn't answer. She took her parents' address book from the kitchen drawer, put on her warmest jacket and went out to the car. She drove to the address her mother had written down for Karen Jensen. Tess hoped Spence had told Karen something about the blouse and why he had it. ### Tess parked in front of the Jensens' house, thinking how like her parents' house theirs appeared. It was approximately the same size and of the same type of construction. It was even close to the same age, but it was in town, with houses close to it on both sides, and a small yard in front with a sidewalk edging the tree-lined street. Karen's father Hank Jensen opened the front door. Tess had met him briefly at the gathering after the funeral. He was in his late forties, thickset and about Tess's height. He didn't appear to recognize her at first, so she introduced herself. "I'm sorry to disturb you on a holiday, but I need to speak to Karen if she's available. It's about Spence." Hank Jensen invited her inside, introduced her again to his wife Margaret, and called Karen downstairs. The Jensens' house was fragrant with holiday meal preparations. The television in the living room was on, tuned to pre-game football highlights. Margaret Jensen switched it off. Karen hesitated on the stairs when she saw Tess seated in the living room. She came the rest of the way down more slowly, and took a seat beside her mother on the sofa. Hank Jensen sat in a recliner, but didn't tilt it back. Tess sat in a glider chair, which she hadn't realized was a glider before she sat down. She did her best to keep it still. She felt a need for stillness. As soon as Karen was seated Tess began to question her. "You mentioned the other day, when you visited, that you needed a key back that you thought Spence had." Karen nodded. "Spence offered to return it to Stoneway for me." "What was the key to?" "It was a passkey to the offices on the first floor. I used to clean them, until I quit a few days ago." "Would it have been a single metal key that Spence didn't keep on his key ring?"
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Karen nodded. "He only had it for a couple of days. He must have still had it when the accident happened, because Angie Norwood told me this week that he never returned it. They're holding my final paycheck until they get it back." "They're what?" Hank Jensen said. "If it's the key I think it is, we found it yesterday," Tess told them. She didn't mention turning it over to the sheriff. "Karen, why didn't you tell us they still haven't paid you?" Margaret Jensen said. "I was afraid you wouldn't let me get another job." Margaret looked at Tess. "I didn't want her to work there. At first she was happy, but apparently Angie got temperamental with her. Karen's only sixteen. I want her to enjoy being sixteen." "Mom, that's not why I quit. I needed to spend more time studying." Her mother looked at her with an odd expression, but didn't say anything. Tess leaned forward, again fighting her chair's inclination to move. "Karen, do you know anything about a torn blouse that Spence had?" "A what?" Margaret said. "What is this about?" She looked accusingly at Tess now, and appeared about to break off the conversation and send Tess out the door. "I'm sorry, Ms. Jensen, but I need to ask these things. Someone came into my house yesterday. They searched it and vandalized it. I think they were looking for those things Spence had in his backpack. One item was that key. Another was a torn blouse. It was the blouse I was wearing eleven years ago when Trent Cambridge tried to rape me. I need to know how it came into Spence's possession." "What makes you think Karen would know?" "Honey," Hank Jensen said, "he was Karen's boyfriend. Karen, answer the lady." Karen shook her head. "I don't know!" She got up and left the room, crying. "I don't know!" "I think you'd better leave," Margaret told Tess. Tess got up and went to the door. Hank Jensen followed her. "I'll talk to them." Tess turned to look at him. "Do you think Karen knows more than she's saying?" "Well, I know she didn't quit her job because of her schoolwork, or because her boss was temperamental. Something happened there, and she won't talk about it. She quit the day after Gail, a friend of hers, was raped in the Stoneway parking lot. Gail says it
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was Trent Cambridge who raped her." He paused and then asked, "Did, uh--did the people who vandalized your house give you the black eye?" She nodded. "I think that was Trent Cambridge. He had someone else with him." Hank Jensen shook his head. "The man is a menace. I'll talk to Karen and her mother." Chapter 18 Tess drove to Stoneway, entered through the lobby, and asked the desk clerk for Angie. "Tess. I didn't expect--" Angie stopped in her office doorway. Her smile turned to a frown as she peered at Tess's black eye. "What happened to you?" "Did you know Trent Cambridge raped a teenage girl right here in your parking lot?" Angie glanced around the lobby. Only the desk clerk was there now, but Angie beckoned Tess into her office and closed the door. Once they were seated she said, "I know the girl says she was raped in my parking lot and she claims it was Trent. Why?" "Does Trent spend a lot of time here, Angie? I saw him here myself a couple of nights ago." Trent had said in the note he left on Tess's door that he'd waited for her in the parking lot, the same place he'd raped Karen's friend. Tess shuddered. Angie narrowed her eyes. "You never mentioned that to me. Are you sure you're all right? What's going on, Tess? You look like you've been in a wreck." Tess shook her head. "I'm angry. I'm scared. I'm upset. I want to know why he was here, Angie. Does he spend a lot of time here?" Angie shrugged. "A lot of people come here for the food, the entertainment." Tess wanted to shake her, but she realized she wasn't being reasonable. "Someone came into my house yesterday, tied me up, and tore the house apart. I think it was Trent. He had someone else with him. He scared the hell out of me. I'm trying to figure out what's going on. I heard today that the girl he raped most recently was assaulted right here in your parking lot." There was a knock on the office door, and Angie's brother Kevin poked his head in. "Karen Jensen's dad just called--Oh, hi Tess. Sorry, I didn't-- What happened to your eye? "It's a long story." Tess stood up. "You okay? I've been looking forward to that turkey tonight, but if you're not up to it we could move the party here."
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"I'm fine. I'd better go put that turkey in the oven." She'd better put makeup on her eye before her dinner party, or she'd frighten all her guests. "I'm sorry, Angie. I was so upset, when I heard that happened here, I--" "Dinner's still on, then?" Angie said with an encouraging grin. She got up and gave Tess a brief hug. "What a trouper. I'm glad you're okay. We'll see you tonight." ### Tess drove back to the house and went up to her studio without a word. Paige followed her and watched as Tess stood looking at the furniture and shawl concealing the cabinets. "Oh, Paige, I'm so frustrated. There's an answer here somewhere, I know there is. I can't let it rest. I can't rest until I find it." Paige appeared, for the first time since Tess had known her, not to know what to say. Tess didn't think she could sit around until evening and wait for her turkey to roast. She gestured at the cabinets. "Will you help me open these up again?" This time they focused on the boxes Tess had set aside yesterday, one containing the personal effects the sheriff had returned to her, and the other her mother's journals. Tess opened the box of journals first, to look for those covering the most pertinent dates, after her accident, and the following few years when her parents had kept her from visiting home. When she searched for the one written the year of her accident, she didn't find it with the others. Paige helped her search for it, but it wasn't in the box. Tess sat still and thought for a minute. Finally she remembered that after Joe's visit last Friday night she'd read the page her mother had written while waiting for Tess to regain consciousness. Her mother's words had upset Tess so much she hadn't wanted to read any further. She'd stuffed the journal under her pillow. Tess went to her bedroom and checked under the pillows. The journal wasn't there. She opened the nightstand drawers and searched through them, throwing things out onto the floor. "Hey, I just organized that," Paige complained. "It's not here. They must have taken it. Trent and his accomplice must have it." Tess returned to the studio and opened the box of personal effects she'd received from the deputy. She doubted she would find anything incriminating in there that the sheriff would have missed, but she had to do something. These were the things her family had taken with them to see the sheriff that morning. "I wonder why Spence didn't take the blouse with him that morning," Paige said.
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Tess looked at her, wondering the same thing. "Maybe he wasn't going with them. It was a school day. It's possible they were going to drop him off at school first. I'd ask Karen, but she seems reluctant to talk about any of this." "Why is she reluctant?" "Her father thinks she's scared. Trent's most recent rape victim is a friend of hers, and that rape happened in the parking lot at Stoneway. Karen quit her job there right after it happened. Remember that single key that you found in his backpack? I think it was the passkey that Karen used when she cleaned the offices at Stoneway. Spence offered to return it for her, after she quit." "Then why did he still have it? And if he was going to school that morning, why didn't he have his backpack with him?" Tess shook her head. "No matter what I decide about my career, I know I don't want to be a detective. It's too frustrating!" "You're too close to this, and you're scared yourself." "I am," Tess agreed. "I'm afraid that it's someone I care about, someone I'd never suspect of wanting to harm my family or me." "Like who?" Tess looked at Paige. She shrugged. "Last night Joe told me Rose still hasn't accounted for where she was when Trent and his accomplice were here yesterday." Paige groaned. "Don't tell Harry you suspect Rose. Well, look, at least you know it's not Joe. He was with us at Cottage Arts, wondering where the hell Rose was, when whoever-they-are were here searching your house. That reminds me, what was Alan doing here when Joe arrived? Joe asked the same thing yesterday, before the sheriff threw everyone out." "Alan had offered to help--after I practically accused him of killing my family." Paige waited for an explanation of that. Harry came in then and asked if they needed help. Tess told Paige and Harry about the damage to the van's tire, and described Alan's athame. "My parents made me quit seeing Alan, around the same time they fixed me up with Trent. Laura says he was heartbroken after I left to live with my aunt. So I guess I was suspicious of him." She told them Alan's story about why he no longer owned the athame. "I believed him." "It would be next to impossible to damage a tire that way, with a knife, while the vehicle was moving," Harry said.
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Paige ignored him. "Tess, Alan had good reason to feel resentful if you'd broken up with him, and surely he could use the money the blackmailer's demanding, for his new business. For that matter, so could Rose." Paige cast a quick glance at Harry, then, and bit her lip. "Rose?" Harry looked from Paige to Tess. "You suspect Rose? What possible motive could she have?" Tess shook her head. "None that I know of. I didn't know Rose very well back then." She nodded toward the box from the sheriff. "These are the things my family had with them that morning." "I uh, have to leave for a bit." Harry told them he had to go back to Stoneway for some things he'd left there. He looked worried, and said he might stop by and see Rose. Paige shook her head after he left and said, "He's smitten with Rose, you know. I've never seen him like this." Tess focused on the box. It contained Jim Hunter's and Spence Hunter's wallets, Cathy Hunter's purse, a paperback romance novel, sunglasses, a California road map book, some loose change, keys, a couple of Jim Hunter's prescription bottles, an empty pocket-like bag of the sort he might have kept on his wheelchair, and various mundane items of the sort one would keep in the glove box of a car, as well as emergency items: tissues, napkins, pencil, paper, emergency blankets, a flashlight, flares, a portable radio, and a compass. Paige read the label on one of the emergency blankets. "They were prepared for anything. Have you gone through the wallets and purse yet?" Tess glanced at the open cabinets, which were again in disarray. "Let's put the rest away. I want to keep the house ready for a dinner party, at least until after tonight." "Oh sure, now you turn back into a neat freak, after you tossed the nightstand I straightened for you." Paige put the wallets and purse back into the box and picked it up, while Tess closed up and concealed the studio cabinets. "Something's starting to smell good down there." Tess had just agreed that it was time to go down and check on the food, when the phone rang in the kitchen. Paige nodded at the box she held. "I'll put this in your closet." Tess went down to get the phone. The caller was Laura Greene. "Are you okay? Alan told me about your trouble there yesterday. You should postpone this gathering tonight until you're better." "I'm fine. Dinner is still on. Are you at Cottage Arts today, on a holiday?"
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Laura laughed. "It's a disease of the self-employed. I had some work to catch up on. I want to be as free as a bird next Friday, for the opening. Alan and Rose were both here this morning, too. I'm leaving my office now. Are you sure you're okay? Do you need help with dinner? I can arrive at your place early if you need me to." "I have plenty of help, but come early if you like. It will give us more time to visit." When Laura arrived, an hour later, she was with Harry, who'd given her a ride so she could ride home with her husband later. While Laura exclaimed over Tess's black eye, Tess noticed that Harry wore a grave expression. He drew Tess aside. "I need to speak to you for a few minutes in private." The look in his eyes told Tess this was serious. She nodded. "Let's go into the study." Tess sat behind her father's desk, while Harry closed the door. Tess noticed he had several sheets of paper in his hand. He cleared his throat. "When I visited Rose the other day, I noticed the research she's been doing. I remembered it again today, when you mentioned the tire damage the sheriff described. So I went to see Rose again for a second look." He showed Tess his set of printouts, from web sites having to do with hunting. "These are called broadheads. They're the types of arrow tips you use for bow hunting." Tess examined the pages. The broadheads in the pictures were nasty looking weapons, sharp metal tips that expanded on impact, increasing the odds that the game a hunter shot with them would be killed and not merely wounded. Tess recalled the books she'd seen in Rose's office the other day. This must be the research Rose had said she was doing for her novel. Rose had acted distraught when Tess saw the hunting books. Harry went on. "I found types that come with two, three and four blades." He pointed out each type on the printouts as he spoke. "They're used on arrows for long bows and compound bows, and the same types of heads fit on the shorter arrows called bolts that are used with crossbows. It's possible that whatever hit the tire on your parents' van was a double-bladed broadhead. See that one?" Tess looked up at him. "Someone could've shot the van's tire with a bow and arrow?" "A crossbow is more likely if they were on a snowmobile at the time. It would be a difficult shot, I should think, but it makes a lot more sense than a knife. I'm taking these pictures to the sheriff. If I leave now I can be back in time for dinner." "Did Rose show you where to find this information?"
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Harry met her gaze. "Actually, Rose took me to see Alan, to ask him to show me, on his computer. He's apparently quite an expert bow hunter. But he'd already left, so I did some searches myself, on Rose's laptop." Tess saw Harry to the door, with a caution to drive carefully. The wind outside was beginning to be alarming in intensity. She wondered whether some of her guests would cancel, after all, due to the weather, as she closed the door against a freezing gust. "Where's he going now?" Paige said in exasperation, when Tess told her Harry had left again. "He has a theory." Tess glanced at Laura, unsure how much she should say. "About the tire damage that caused the accident. He's going to see the sheriff." "Is that what he was so worked up about?" Laura turned to face Tess. "Is there some mystery about your family's accident? Is that why those people ransacked your house yesterday?" "The sheriff thinks my family may have been murdered." Tess explained Harry's theory to Paige and Laura. "Well at least that theory leaves out Rose, I should think," Paige said. "Don't be so sure," Laura said with a grim look. "Rose was the best shot in archery class, in high school. It was the one gym class she ever aced." Both Paige and Tess turned toward Laura and Paige demanded that she explain what she'd said. "Well, you know," Laura said, looking at Tess. "She was so overweight, she was terrible at most sports, always the last one picked for a team, things like that. We had the same gym class one year." Laura looked at Tess with her eyes narrowed. "A whole quarter was devoted entirely to archery, and Rose turned out to be the best shot in the class. She amazed the teacher." "Oh crap," Paige said, taking in her meaning. She turned to look at Tess. "It doesn't mean it's Rose," Tess said, too defensively for her own comfort. "A lot of people here hunt, and a lot of them hunt with bows. I know Angie does. I saw a compound bow in her office." Laura nodded. "Alan does too, with a bow. I don't think Rose actually hunts, though, and I know Joe doesn't. He told Ed that he has to put down enough animals in his work; doing it for sport doesn't appeal to him. Ed doesn't either, though he sells all the equipment. So, it's not necessarily Rose or Joe." Laura said with a nervous laugh. "What am I saying? It's not any of them. Besides, you said Harry thought it had to be a crossbow. I don't know anyone who hunts with a crossbow. According to Ed, they're frowned upon by bow hunters, unless you're disabled and can't shoot a regular bow."
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Tess was thinking, and she knew that Paige was as well. They now knew of at least three of Tess's friends who were possible suspects, if Harry's theory was correct. Three people who had lived here at the time of Tess's accident, as well as her family's, and knew how to shoot a bow. Paige listed them out loud. "Rose, Angie and Alan. Which one has a motive?" "Alan did, at one time," Laura said. "He was resentful about your break up, Tess. Angry with your parents for making you break up, and with you for giving in to them and then not telling him where you'd gone when you moved away. You may not have meant to, but you broke that boy's heart, big time." "Do you know if Trent Cambridge hunts with a bow?" Paige asked her. Laura shrugged. "He's out of my circle, and I don't hunt. Alan might know. Ask him or Ed, or Angie, when they get here." Paige was intent on Laura. "Can you think of any motive Rose might have to harm Tess or her family?" Tess sent her a look, which Paige ignored. Laura thought for a minute. Finally she shook her head. "No, but you mentioned Trent Cambridge?" "Yes." "I think he's one of the people who ransacked the house yesterday," Tess put in. "Well, there was a rumor that Rose dated Trent Cambridge for that whole summer. Your last summer here, Tess. I remember I heard about it and realized that she must have stopped seeing him right before you went out with him." Chapter 19 Tess was upstairs changing clothes when her next few guests arrived. She opened her bedroom door an inch or so, and heard Paige greet Angie and Kevin Norwood. They chatted happily, laughing and commenting on the good smells coming out of the kitchen. Tess closed the door and turned back to the mirror to put on her garnet earrings. At a light knock on the bedroom door she called, "Come in." Angie paused in the doorway. "That's lovely, Tess. You always did have the best taste in clothes." Tess wore a black velvet skirt and the deep red sequined top she'd purchased to match the garnet earrings. She'd applied makeup to conceal her black eye as well as possible, and she'd put her hair up. "Thank you. I thought I'd let the train wreck look go for tonight. Oh, I nearly forgot the shawl." She crossed the hall into her studio, where she took the Russian print shawl down from its place on the wall. She brought it back to her bedroom and wrapped it around her shoulders, standing in front of the mirror to adjust it.
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"Oh!" Angie breathed behind her. "That's so beautiful!" Tess shook her head as she scrutinized the shawl. "No, it will get in my way while I'm serving food, and it catches on the sequins." She sighed. "This always happens. In the store I have the whole outfit put together, but when it comes to wearing it in real life, something isn't right." Tess folded the shawl carefully so it wouldn't droop clear to the floor, and tied it around her waist, peasant style. "There." She turned to find Angie staring into space with her mouth open. "What do you think?" "I--" Angie met Tess's gaze and smiled mildly. "You look like a Gypsy, exotic and mysterious." "Let's go." Tess hurried out the door and approached the stairs, eager to see everyone. She turned to find Angie, still in the upstairs hallway, looking sober and deep in thought. "Coming?" Angie nodded, looking distracted, tired. "Do you ever get away from here for a vacation, Angie?" Tess said. "Let someone else do all the work, and order room service?" Angie started down the stairs ahead of Tess and didn't answer. Tess paused, halfway down, when Joe came in the front door. She forgot about everything else at the sight of him. He carried in a huge, gift-wrapped box and placed it on the floor of the entry hall. Then he turned to hang his coat, glanced up, and saw Tess watching him. He returned her look for several seconds with an expression that raised her internal temperature several degrees. His brown-and-tan tweed jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. It was open at the front, revealing a moss green cable-knit sweater. His eyes shone woodsy green in the lamplight. His lips partially opened, looking firm and supple in a decidedly masculine way. They curved toward a smile and then stilled halfway there, while he stood with one hand on the coat rack and gazed silently up at Tess. Tess didn't know how long she stood there returning his look, before either moved. The doorbell broke the spell. Joe shifted his attention to let Ed Greene in. Only then did Tess become aware of the others gathered in the living room. She continued down the stairs and greeted her guests. Paige came out of the kitchen and pounced on the big package Joe had brought. It was covered in wrapping paper with a design of pumpkins and autumn leaves. "What's this?" Paige bent to read the envelope on top. "It says Tess, that's all. Who brought it?" She raised her head. "I did." Joe turned to Tess. "You'd better open it now." "Now?" Rose said. "Joe, it's Thanksgiving, not--"
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"There's no way this can wait." Joe picked up the package gingerly, holding the big box level as he carried it. "You'll understand when you see it. It won't keep until morning, or through dinner. You'd better open it now, Tess." He set it down in front of an armchair, then motioned Tess to be seated. Tess went to work on the package, carefully sliding off the big ribbon and loosening the tape that held the top of the box securely in place. Then she lifted the lid slowly and stared at what it contained. Two tiny, fluffy kittens, the same pair she'd seen in Joe's office, one black and one white, looked up at her and mewed, showing white kitten teeth and pink tongues. "Oh!" Tess breathed, lost in wonder as she scooped them up and held them in her arms. "Joe." She looked up to find him grinning at her with a soft warmth in his eyes. "I don't know what to say. They're--" "The white one's a she, the black is a he." "They're . . . perfect!" Tess kissed each kitten's forehead. "I don't get it," Kevin Norwood said in a glum tone. "Why'd you get her cats, Joe?" "Because she needs them." "I mean, what's she going to do with them?" "I'm going to love them, Kevin. I've always wanted a cat, and I fell in love with these two the instant I saw them in Joe's office." She held the kittens close, and now they both purred, curling into balls next to each other in her lap, their eyes half closed. "You precious things," Tess breathed. She looked up. "Thank you, Joe." "That's not all there is." He squatted down to show her the remaining contents of the box. "Of course they're the important part." He'd also included a litter box, cat litter, food and water dishes, kitten food, toys, scratching post, and two books on cats and cat care." "What's this?" Tess picked up a small package that lay inside. It was wrapped in gold and silver striped paper with a white bow bigger than the tiny box itself. "A flea collar," Ed Greene quipped. Tess glanced at Ed, and wondered why he suddenly looked so pleased, as if he enjoyed a secret. Joe took the package from Tess with a glance around the room. "That can wait until later." He carried it over and placed it on the piano. "Now, didn't you promise us food, Tess? I'm starved. I smell turkey." "With cornbread dressing and homemade cranberry sauce," Ed said. "I peeked into the kitchen as soon as I arrived."
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"Everything's nearly ready," Laura said. "All we have to do is carve the bird and take the rolls out of the oven." Laura had taken over the kitchen while Tess dressed. She glanced at her watch. "You just have time to settle those little ones." Tess nodded. "Upstairs for now, I think." "Those kittens are a tough act to follow," Ed said, getting to his feet. "But I brought a gift, too, for everyone. Champagne. It's chilling in the kitchen. We can have a toast, later, in honor of Cottage Arts and their upcoming grand opening--and anything else that deserves a toast." He looked at Joe as he said this, with an odd light in his eyes. Alan arrived then, and Harry returned soon afterward, while Tess and Paige settled the kittens in Tess's room. Finally Tess and Laura prepared to put the meal on the table while Paige gathered everyone in the dining room and Joe helped carve the bird. Harry and Alan both reported that the weather was worsening, and everyone grew concerned, hoping it didn't blow into a blizzard. They decided to hope for the best, determined to enjoy the holiday meal together. Laura was taking the rolls out of the oven when Joe decided he'd better bring in firewood before it got too messy out. He opened the back door, and snow slanted into the kitchen in a heavy gust. Tess poured the gravy into a boat. "Will you take this in, too?" She handed it to Laura, who took it and the rolls away. Tess went to the back door to watch for Joe when he returned. He came in on a gust of wind, and they fought the door closed. "It's blowing in all directions out there." He was out of breath. When he appeared ready to battle the storm again, Tess said, "Don't go alone. It will take you forever in that." All the men pitched in to help, and they spent the next few minutes carrying in as much firewood as would fit next to the kitchen fireplace. Now everyone was concerned about the storm, and they soon reached a unanimous decision to spend the night rather than try to drive in this. Tess got everyone together in the dining room again. She lit the candles on the table. "We can't do anything about the storm. So let's enjoy this meal together and be grateful we're not out in it." They passed the food around family style. Meanwhile the wind had begun to howl in the trees and chimneys. Above that came the sound of someone banging on the front door. Tess got up to answer, and Joe came with her. "Eat," she pleaded with the others, as Joe followed her out. "I can't believe this wind," she told Joe as they approached the door. Jessica Laine huddled close to the door, her clothes pressed against her body, her hair flying wildly in the wind and snow. She was wailing when Joe opened it, and she nearly
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blew inside. Joe took her by the arm and drew her inside so he could haul the door closed. Then he turned and glared at her. "Jessica, what the hell are you doing here?" "I came to get you, Joe. Then this--this--snow started. You were expected at Uncle Ned's for Thanksgiving dinner. You knew that, didn't you?" Joe glanced at Tess, then placed his hands on his hips as he faced Jessica again. "What are you talking about?" "You didn't expect to spend Thanksgiving with me?" Jessica looked at Tess, and her face changed expression. She beckoned Joe to the door. "Come on, Joe. We're late." "No one's driving anywhere in this." "Well I'm not staying here. I only came to get you." "You shouldn't have come at all." "You won't be a gentleman and drive me back home?" Jessica looked angry now. She shot a glare at Tess and then faced Joe squarely. "What's going on here, Joe?" "Dinner," Harry said brightly, coming out to the foyer. "And it's getting cold. Come on, you'll have to join us. Joe's right, no one's driving anywhere in this." He introduced himself in his most charming manner, took her fur coat, and beckoned Jessica into the dining room. Harry, Joe and Tess between them managed to convince Jessica to not rush back out into the storm, and she reluctantly sat at the table with Tess's other nine guests. The former gaiety of the gathering faded to nearly absolute silence--except for the wind howling outside. Laura Greene suddenly laughed. Ed asked her what she thought was so humorous. "I was remembering the year I offered to cook Thanksgiving dinner for both our families. Then I got the flu, and you wound up taking care of me as well as all the cooking. Until now, I've always thought that was the most disastrous holiday meal on record." The next problem was to decide where everyone should sleep. There were four double beds, one sofa sleeper in the study, and a regular sofa in the living room. Laura and Ed were the only married couple. Everyone agreed they should room together, and the others would double up by gender as space allowed. They agreed on this while still at the table, where the food served to keep everyone in a jovial mood regarding the situation, except for Jessica. "How shall we decide on roommates?" Kevin said. "Draw straws?"
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"I'll share a room with you, Joe," Jessica said with a sweet expression. Silence fell over the table. Someone coughed, and Joe's face turned red. He shook his head and said quietly, "No, Jessica. You should room with one of the other women." He glanced at Tess. "Let's let our hostess decide," Paige said quickly. Tess sent her a look. Jessica stared at Joe for a several seconds and then said, "How could you embarrass me this way?" She rose and ran out of the room, in tears. Tess waited for Joe to follow. It seemed inevitable to her that he would, but he didn't. Joe resumed eating. Tess wondered what was going on with him, that he could eat while his fiancée was crying her eyes out in the other room, but she said nothing. They could all hear Jessica sobbing in the living room. People looked at each other, or at their plate, and no one said a word. Tess considered going out to talk to Jessica, but didn't want a repeat of the scene that had occurred when Jessica came here to tell Tess to stay away from Joe because they were engaged. Meanwhile Jessica's sobbing continued, growing louder and more dramatic. "Well. This is awkward," Alan said. He exchanged looks with Kevin, who grinned. "Oh, I can't take it any longer," Laura finally said in disgust. She started to get up. "Wait," Rose said. "Let me talk to her." With a glance at Joe, his sister went out to console Jessica. Paige had found a sheet of paper in the kitchen and now sat beside Tess again, writing furiously. She folded the paper and handed it to Tess, who unfolded it. It read, "Ten Little Indians!" Very amusing, Tess thought, but not constructive. She turned the sheet over and sideways, took the pen from Paige, and made six columns, one for each of the rooms in question. Upstairs: Tess's Room, Studio, Spence's Room. Downstairs: Study, Guestroom, Living Room. Paige took the sheet back from Tess and started filling in names, looking up for Tess's nod as she entered each one. Upstairs: Tess's Room--Tess, Paige; Studio--Harry, Joe; Spence's room--Laura, Ed. Downstairs: Study--Alan, Kevin; Guestroom--Angie, Rose; Living Room--Jessica. Tess gave a final nod. Then she read off to the group where everyone was to sleep. If anyone didn't like it she was prepared to put up a fight. She knew Paige and Harry would back her up. But no one argued. Paige went out to the living room to relay the decision to Jessica and Rose. There was no apparent disagreement there, either. If Jessica couldn't sleep with Joe, she was at least getting more privacy than anyone else, with the living room to herself.
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"Thank goodness that's settled," Ed said when Paige returned. "Now we can continue the festivities." He picked up the glazed yams. "Anyone else want more of these?" "I think we're ready for that champagne," Kevin said. Ed looked at Joe. "Not yet." "We may never be ready for that." Joe sent a wary glance in Ed's direction. "Oh no." Ed shook his head, smiling. "No backing out now, Joe." "What are you two talking about?" Laura looked from Joe to Ed. "Something's up." The lights went out then. Out in the living room, Jessica screamed. The dining room would've been plunged into pitch darkness if not for the candles in the center of the table. "Oh crap!" Paige said. Laura cracked up again. ### They washed dishes and put away leftovers by flashlight and candlelight, limiting as much as possible the time the refrigerator remained open, and doing their best not to bump into each other in the dark. Later Tess and Rose served pie in the living room, with coffee brewed in an old percolator on the gas stovetop. The guests sat on either the sofa, armchair, chairs carried in from the dining room, or pillows on the floor. While they ate dessert, the glow of firelight and candles created a warm and comfortable oasis, a haven of safety while the storm raged outside. "One good thing," Ed said, "is that you decided to delay the grand opening of Cottage Arts until next Friday. So if we're stuck here through tomorrow, the worst anyone will suffer is a long weekend indoors. Anyone have a problem with that?" "I have guests at Stoneway," Angie said, fidgeting. "They're in good hands, Angie," Kevin told her. In spite of his repeated assurance that her employees were capable of handling things, Angie kept going to the guestroom to use her cell phone and check on her business. During one of Angie's absences Jessica announced, to no one in particular, "My cousin Trent was arrested today. Uncle Ned is furious about it." Ed gave her a long look. "Why was he arrested?" "I don't know. We'd just heard about it before I came here to get Joe."
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"Tess thinks he's the one who vandalized this house yesterday, and gave her that black eye, don't you Tess?" Laura said. "I'm certain it was Trent." "But you said they wore masks," Rose blurted out. This made Tess take a hard look at Rose, but her face was cast in shadow. "I'm sure I recognized his voice." "Why would he do that?" Ed said. "I think they were searching for something." Tess wished this subject hadn't come up at all. She didn't know who to trust anymore, among all of these people who were supposed to be her friends. "They?" Ed said. "There were more than one?" Tess nodded. "There were two people." "The police think Tess's family was murdered," Laura said. "Murdered?" Angie stopped in the doorway, returning from the guestroom with her cell phone in hand. "Kevin, my battery's dead on this thing. Did you bring yours?" "Of course not. I know how to take an evening off. Use Tess's phone." Tess asked if anyone wanted more coffee or pie, and got up to serve seconds, hoping the subject of her intruders and her family's murder would die down while she made her escape. But it didn't. Harry explained his theory about bows and arrows while the rest of the group listened. "Jessica, does Trent own a bow?" Tess heard Kevin ask while she was in the kitchen. "Why would Trent kill Tess's family?" Ed said. "Tess," he called, "did they know Trent?" "What are they talking about?" Angie said, hanging up the phone and heading back toward the living room. Tess was pouring coffee by flashlight. She didn't answer. "You okay?" Joe said beside her, having followed her from the other room with a stack of pie plates. "I'm fine, but I didn't intend to discuss this now, with these guests." "They can't help it. The power's out, and they've found something more interesting than television. They're like kids telling ghost stories."
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"It's my family they're discussing." "I know." Joe put his arm around her. Tess thought he was about to kiss her, with his fiancée in the next room. She moved out of his reach and faced him. "Joe, why didn't you want to share a room with Jessica? Why didn't you go to her when she was crying like that?" Joe went still. He took a few seconds to speak. "Why would I do either of those things?" "Because of who she is to you." "Who she is?" "Oh, never mind." Tess turned and picked up the tray of coffee cups she'd filled. "It's none of my business." She walked out of the kitchen. "Tess, wait a minute," Joe called after her, and followed her, but he didn't pursue the subject after they returned to the room full of people. He went to stand near the piano, and Tess felt his gaze on her as she served coffee and sat down again to join in the conversation. To her relief the discussion of Trent Cambridge and her family had been dropped in her absence. "Angie asked how many of us have been snowed in before," Laura told her. "Have you, Tess?" They took some time to exhaust that topic, since most had lived here in the high Sierras for years. By then it was nearly ten o'clock, and no one seemed in any hurry to end the party and go to their assigned beds. Rose sat on a cushion on the floor near the fire, beside Harry. Her eyes shone and her smile looked years younger in the candlelight. "Tess, do you mind if we bring the kittens down here to play for a while?" Joe grinned at his sister. "I thought you were allergic." He stood by the piano again, where he'd spent most of the past hour, though there was a vacant place on the sofa beside Jessica. Alan got up and crossed over to the piano. "Who plays?" He opened the bench to look for music, but then he spotted the small gift-wrapped package Joe had placed on top of the piano earlier, before Alan arrived. Tess saw a curious look come over Alan's face. He reached out to touch the package. "That looks like a--" Joe snatched it up and walked over to Tess. "I need to speak to you for a few minutes. In private," Joe murmured. "We can round up your kittens while we're at it, and bring them down here for some play."
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Tess agreed. "But you all have to help look out for them in the dark, so they don't get stepped on, and keep them away from the candles and the fire." She headed for the stairs with Joe right behind her. "We'll be careful with your babies," Ed teased. Jessica got up from the sofa as Joe passed her. "I'll go with you." "Not now, Jessica." Joe spoke in a firm tone. He picked up a flashlight from the coffee table and lit the steps for Tess with it as he followed her up the stairs. Chapter 20 They entered Tess's bedroom carefully, in case there were kittens underfoot in the dark, but the kittens were nowhere in sight. "They've curled up to sleep somewhere." Joe closed the bedroom door. "They're in some tight crevice where it's warm, but they'll be together." Tess took the flashlight from him and searched under the furniture. "Tess, Jessica and I aren't lovers." It was all she could do not to shine the light in his face when she turned back to look at him. Was he saying they hadn't made love yet? That they were waiting until they married? "I'm not in love with her." "Why are you telling me this? It's none of my business." Tess shone the light under the bed, resuming her search. "Tess, stop. The kittens are fine. I'll help you find them. First, sit down here and listen to me for a minute." He motioned for her to sit on the foot of the bed, and he sat beside her, his thigh touching hers. She scooted away. "Listen to me. I'm in love with you." He took her free hand in his. Then he pulled the gift box with the white ribbon out of his jacket pocket, and placed it in her hand. "This is for you. I wanted to have some time alone with you, after everyone left tonight, to ask you. It's damned awkward having all of these people here right now." Ask her? "What is it?" She held onto the little package and looked into his eyes, as best she could in the dark without blinding him with the flashlight. "Here." He took the flashlight from her and held its beam on the gift in her hand. "Any ordinary couple would do this by candlelight. You get a blizzard, with all its sound and bad light effects. Open it, Tess. Please."
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She hesitated, trying to read his expression. She didn't understand why he would give her another gift, after he'd already brought the kittens here tonight. "Open it." Tess slid off the ribbon and carefully removed the wrapping, to reveal a velvet jeweler's box. "Joe?" She looked up at him, afraid to open it. "This is for me?" "It's for you." She opened the box. A ring shone up at her, sparkling in the illumination of the flashlight he held. It was white gold, with three stones, one large blue topaz set between two smaller diamonds. Tess stared at it, not sure what to make of it. "It's--beautiful, but why-" "I wanted to get you a diamond that size, but the topaz is the color of your eyes. I thought of you as soon as I saw it." "But--You thought of me?" Was this what he'd bought in Sacramento, for Jessica? "Will you marry me, Tess?" She gawked at him. Then at the ring again. Finally she said, "Do you realize what you're saying?" "Do I realize? I've been able to think of little else for nearly a week. I can't sleep. I can't concentrate. I love you, Tess, and I think--at least I strongly suspect--that you feel the same for me." Her heart gave a lurch as she took in his words. She only stared at him. "I thought you and Jessica--" "I love you, Tess. I want you to be my wife." "What about Jessica?" "You're not going to go on holding that against me, are you? It was a lot of idiocy. I should never have let her get the idea there was anything between us. I'm not sure how it happened. Her uncle kept--" Tess was angry again. She wanted to hit him, shake him. "Joe, you're engaged to her! I saw you kiss her!" He looked taken aback for a few seconds. "Engaged? No, no, Tess. I've never even gone out with Jessica except when her uncle was present. He throws her at me on a regular basis, when she's not doing it herself, and I've been careful not to hurt either his or her feelings, because I've been hoping he'd loan me some money for Cottage Arts, for the renovations. I was a fool for letting Ned string me along the way he has. I don't think he ever intended to make me the loan. He probably wanted to marry off his niece."
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"What about that ring she's wearing?" It was his turn to gape at her. "She came here the day you and I made love, and she told me to stay away from you because you and she are engaged." Joe shook his head, wearing a look of disbelief. "The ring used to be her mother's. So were all the fur coats. She's--not my type at all." He held up his hands as if to ward off this whole line of thinking. "She told you we're engaged? Is that what happened? Tess, I swear to you, any romance Jessica thinks exists between her and me is a fantasy." He took the box from Tess and removed the ring. "Will you answer my question? Will you marry me?" Tess was stunned, still taking in what he was doing, but she began finally to fear that if she didn't stop staring at him like an idiot and say something soon, he'd stop asking. She wanted to answer. She had an answer all ready. "I've been back here less than two weeks. We hardly know each other. I love you, Joe, but I keep asking myself how this could be, so quickly." He nodded. "I know. When I think back to how I felt about you years ago, I can't help but think that this is absolutely and undeniably meant to be. I want to be with you every minute. I know I can't, but when we're together it feels like the most natural thing in the world to want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't understand it, Tess, and I can't help but believe in it, that the feeling is real, that it means something. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'll understand, though, if you need more time to answer." He loved her. Tess. Not Jessica. She broke into a smile, welcoming fully this new notion, of marrying Joe. "I love you, Joe--" "Let me put this where it belongs." He was ready to slip the ring onto her finger. "Wait." She took a deep breath, and said the words she didn't want to say. "Jessica Laine. Whether she's lying or fantasizing, I can't say yes until that's cleared up, Joe." He stood. "Then let's talk to Jessica." They returned downstairs, with Joe in the lead this time. He looked about as determined as Tess had ever seen him. When he reached the foot of the stairs he said, "Jessica." The blonde jumped up from the sofa as if on springs. "Will you talk to us in private for a minute?" Joe headed for the study, with Tess right behind him. When Jessica followed them in, Joe closed the door.
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"Tess has something she'd like to ask you," he said. "Have a seat." Tess sat behind her father's desk. Joe and Jessica sat in the two leather visitor chairs, at right angles to each other. It was dark, except for the flashlight in Joe's hand, which he shone toward the floor. All their faces were dimly lit, with deep shadows. It was difficult for Tess to read either Joe's or Jessica's expression. "What do you want?" Jessica said to Tess in that familiar, haughty tone. "I want to know why you told me that you and Joe were engaged." Jessica sucked in her breath and looked at Joe. "I never told her that, Joe." "Are you saying you and Joe aren't engaged?" Tess said. "I--" Jessica looked at Joe again, as if seeking his support now. He sighed and looked away. "Jessica, I've never given you any indication that I was in love with you." Tess herself almost protested, remembering their kiss, which she'd seen occur right out in her own driveway. She reminded herself that it had been a glimpse of less than a second. Still, she wanted an explanation. "You didn't have to say it, Joe. You helped me with my shop. You went to all those meetings and dinners with Uncle Ned and me. You--" Jessica broke off. Joe's voice took on a more gentle tone. "Your uncle didn't tell you that I was trying to get a loan from him, for Cottage Arts? That was the reason he gave me, for all those meetings. He never gave any indication that he thought it was for any purpose but to discuss a loan. He invited you along, I didn't." "You kissed me." "No. You kissed me." Jessica looked at Tess. "Why are you doing this? Why don't you leave us alone? Why did you have to come back here?" She stood up, ready to leave the room. "Jess--" Joe took her arm, and she wrenched it out of his grasp. "Leave me alone!" Jessica shrieked. "Jessica," Tess said. "I'd like to hear you tell me the truth. Why did you tell me that you and Joe were engaged?"
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"Because you were throwing yourself at him, you wouldn't leave him alone. You don't belong here. I love him!" She remained standing, halfway to the door. Tess looked at Joe. "Tell her, Joe." He looked confused. "Joe, you've never told her that you don't love her, have you? She's made it clear how she feels. You haven't." "I--" Joe stared at Tess for a few seconds. Finally he looked at Jessica, who waited. A light knock on the door brought all their heads around. They didn't answer it. "Jessica," Joe finally said, his voice still incredibly gentle, "I don't love you. I never have. I'm not in love with you. Do you understand?" Jessica released a little gasp-cry combination and looked at him, then at Tess. Then she went out the door, slamming it behind her. Tess got up and came around the desk. Joe got up more slowly. "I'm an idiot," he said as Tess moved into his arms. "I was so worried about hurting her feelings, or Ned's feelings, I didn't even realize I was confusing the issue." "Compassion is only an error when it leaves too much unsaid." Tess kissed him. "We need to find my kittens." He followed her out of the study. Jessica had run into the powder room, and was sobbing noisily in there. Kevin stood near the study door when they came out. "What's up guys? Everything all right?" "Everything's fine now," Joe said, taking Tess by the hand. He led her back up the stairs. Once inside her bedroom with the door closed, Joe kissed Tess. She melted into his kiss, into his arms, and they lost themselves in each other for several wonderful seconds before a tiny mew brought them back to reality. Tess drew away and picked up the two kittens, who'd come out from wherever they'd been hiding to rub against her ankles. Joe chuckled. "I don't know what I was thinking, providing myself such effective competition for your attention." "You were thinking you loved me." "Now." Joe brought the ring box out of his pocket and opened it. He removed the ring. "Will you marry me, Tess?"
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"It's just now sinking in. I'm so happy, Joe. I don't think I can contain myself." Tess glanced at the ring, which sparkled with a special light, for her, even without the flashlight aimed at it. She looked up at Joe. "Is this really happening?" "It's real." He kissed her again. "But you had me going there. In fact, you still haven't said yes." "Yes!" She kissed him again. He slipped the ring onto her left ring finger. "There, finally where it belongs." "I--we--I want to tell everyone. Do you--should we, with Jessica here?" "I think the best thing is for her to hear it announced publicly, in a way that can't be questioned. She lied to you, and as a result confused and hurt us both. I'm not a vengeful person, and I may have left too much unsaid with her, but I'm not feeling particularly sympathetic toward her either. Are you?" "I thought your love was only my imagination for a few days there, so I know how that feels." Joe smiled. "I love you, Tess Hunter. God how I love you! I'm going to tell all your guests downstairs that I do, and that I'm going to marry you, in about thirty seconds." He drew her to the door. "Okay, but we're talking about someone who wears fur. I'm holding onto my kittens until I've gauged her reaction." Jessica was seated in her corner of the sofa again. Her reaction to their news was silence, but the others became noisy. Rowdy, even. Tess held the kittens, sometimes passing them off to Joe or Rose, for the next few minutes, while they received congratulations, hugs, best wishes, and kisses for Tess from most of those gathered in the house. "Now it's time for champagne," Ed said. "I've been holding out for this news. Joe, I thought you'd never ask her." "You knew about this?" Laura and Tess asked at the same time. Ed looked only a little guilty, but he smiled. "Joe couldn't contain himself. He showed me the ring the day he bought it, when we were all in Sacramento. You had him worried that day, Tess, when you wouldn't even go to Kevin's party with him." Ed slapped his hand over his mouth, then, and Tess remembered Laura wasn't supposed to know they'd shopped there. "I don't understand," Laura said to Joe. "You two just met. It's not usually possible for a romance to go on right under my nose without me realizing it. When did this happen?" "We didn't just meet," Joe said, his arm around Tess. "We grew up together."
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"You did? Oh. Well. I suppose you did. You were neighbors, weren't you? I'd forgotten that. Ed, let's open the champagne. While we're in the kitchen you can tell me when you went to Sacramento with Joe, in case you think I missed that. How much did you spend?" Laura the bookkeeper drew her husband away to the kitchen. Tess hazarded a glance at Jessica, who sat in a corner of the sofa clutching an afghan and a pillow, her eyes red and puffy, staring into space. Tess felt sorry for her, but Jessica had invited herself here tonight, had lied to Tess about her relationship with Joe, and had driven a wedge between them that had almost stuck. A little humiliation wouldn't kill her. Tess just wished Jessica didn't look so young and vulnerable right now. Jessica glanced up and saw Tess looking her way. Her lips tightened and she turned her head. Alan walked over to Jessica then, and offered her a glass of champagne. He sat beside her and spoke to her, coaxing her into conversation. Tess felt a world of gratitude to Alan, on the girl's behalf. Ed toasted Tess and Joe, and their future. Then he toasted Cottage Arts and all its business owners. Finally he toasted Tess's house, calling it, "a wonderful, warm place to be holed up in a storm with friends." ### Sometime during the night the storm subsided. Tess wondered, when she wakened in the dark, if a shift in the storm's intensity was what had wakened her. A moment later she heard someone creaking around the upstairs hallway, and she wondered if that was what had pierced her sleep. She glanced over at Paige, who was still deep in slumber. A floor board creaked again, while Tess listened. It sounded like someone was right outside her door. She crept out of bed, into her robe, and checked to see that the kittens were snug in their big box where she'd decided earlier they'd be safest for the night. There was a chill in the room, in spite of the wall heaters having been on all night. The kittens were curled up together in a tight ball, in one corner of their padded basket, asleep. Tess went to the bedroom door. She listened, but didn't hear anything for several seconds. She'd just worked up her nerve to open the door, when a soft knock on it made her jump. "Tess?" The low voice on the other side of the door sounded like Joe. Tess opened it a crack, heart pounding. A dark figure stood there, his height and size unmistakable in the dark hall. "Are you all right?" Joe murmured. She breathed again. "Yes. What are you doing up?" "Something wakened me. I remember hearing the sound of a snowmobile in my sleep. Then I thought I saw a light outside as I woke up." "Something woke me too, a few minutes ago," Tess said.
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"I'm going downstairs to take a look." He brandished the flashlight he held, as yet unlit. "Wait a minute, Joe. Wake up Ed and Harry and take them with you." He paused, standing close to her in the darkness for a moment. She wanted to hold onto him, to cling the way she'd seen Jessica do. "It may be nothing at all," Joe eventually said. "I'll be careful. I want to take a look. I was probably dreaming about snowmobiles. Who would come out on one in this weather?" He moved away. Indeed, who would be out in this weather running around on a snowmobile in the dark? A murderer was the only answer Tess could come up with. Trent may be in jail, but his accomplice wasn't. She followed Joe to the head of the stairs. Now that she thought about it, Trent hadn't behaved like a murderer, the day before yesterday. He could easily have killed her, but he'd shifted his attention from her as soon as his accomplice arrived, and that was when he'd blindfolded Tess, so she hadn't seen or heard the accomplice in any way that could give her a hint of who the person was. Was there a reason for that? Was the accomplice more dangerous than Trent? Did Trent know that? Had he actually been protecting Tess when he did that? Joe turned and saw that she'd followed. "Wait here." He moved down the stairs. Tess wanted to stop him. Since she couldn't, she decided to follow. Joe was two-thirds of the way down the stairs when the sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen. Tess swallowed a scream. Other sounds followed. A rattle and scrape, mingled with the tinkle and crack of glass. Then, faintly, the sound of a man cursing. A door lock turned, operating with the mechanical smoothness of the new deadbolt on the back door, which had glass panes. Tess could only assume it was one of those panes that had broken. She wanted to call Joe back, but he'd disappeared from view, down the stairs into the living room, heading in the direction of the kitchen. She held her breath, afraid to make a sound. Her heart thundered, filling her ears with its rapid rhythm so she didn't think she could hear properly what was going on down there. She held her mouth open and crept closer, further down the stairs, hugging the wall, her body so rigid with fear that each step she took felt sluggish, resistant. She needed to know Joe was safe, though. Reflected light flashed on the far dining room wall, and a man cursed. "Turn off that damn light, or I'll shoot, and I may hit you." The light went out. "What the hell are you doing here?" Joe demanded. A tiny shriek from the direction of the living room sofa signaled that Jessica had wakened.
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"Joe?" the man in the kitchen said." Who was that? Tess wondered. The voice was of an older man. "Where is she?" the man said. "Uncle Ned?" Jessica said in a wondering tone. Tess saw her sit up, on the sofa. "Jessica's here?" the man said. "Put the gun down, Ned," Joe said, "and tell me what you're doing breaking in here in the middle of the night." "The hell I will. I'm going to get what I came for, if it's the last thing I do. I've paid for it enough times. Where is she?" "Jessica?" Joe said. "No, damn it. The woman who's been bleeding me dry for years." "What are you talking about?" "Tess Hunter. Where is she?" Silence. Tess covered her mouth, terrified and clueless as to why Ned Cambridge was here with a gun, looking for her. And who was the woman who'd been bleeding him dry? "She's in here, Uncle Ned," Jessica called, pointing at Tess as if Uncle Ned could see her. Tess plastered her back to the wall, wondering how she could ever have felt sorry for the blonde and wishing she'd left her standing on the front porch to freeze last night. "What do you want with Tess?" Joe finally said in a low, deadly tone, which would've gratified Tess if only he was the one with the gun. "Move. Now. Don't make me shoot you, Joe," Uncle Ned said in the kitchen. Jessica moved, releasing something like an enraged whimper as she scrambled in the direction of the foyer. She moved something around down there. What was she doing? Joe backed into the living room slowly, from the kitchen, and the muzzle of Ned Cambridge's hand gun followed. Then Ned himself. Other noises stirred in the house, the confused mutterings and movements of Tess's other guests, who'd been wakened by the noise and were now shrugging off sleep as they attempted to understand what was happening. This worried Tess, because the more people the more confusion, and the more confusion, the more likely Ned Cambridge was to use that gun.
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"I'm up here," Tess said, as calmly as she could. "What do you want from me, Ned?" Jessica moved out of the foyer then, sidling over toward Ned. "Get out of the way, Jessica!" Ned waved her behind him. She moved as he indicated, in a sideways motion, keeping her face toward him and Joe, and her hands behind her back. She nodded in Tess's direction. "She's up there." Ned moved to see around Joe and looked up the stairs. "What do you want from me?" Tess said, her voice shaking. "Give me the blouse and I'll leave. I've paid you for it enough times. You're not getting another dime out of me now that Trent's in jail." Tess opened her mouth to speak, but then wondered what he would do if she told him the sheriff had the blouse. Shoot her? Shoot Joe? "Get out of the way, Joe," Ned said. "I don't want to hurt you. I want the damned blouse." "What blouse?" Joe said. "I know which blouse he wants." Tess fought to keep her teeth from chattering as she spoke. Would Ned know what the blouse looked like? If she gave him a blouse, any blouse, would he go away and leave them all alone? Or did he know that specific blouse? Tess backed up onto the next higher step. "Don't move another inch, Tess!" Ned warned. "Get out of the way, Joe!" "I'm not moving until you tell me what blouse." Tess saw Jessica raise an object that she'd held behind her. She lifted it high and crashed it down on Ned's head from behind. The gun in his hand went off. The object shattered into pieces. Ned crumpled to the floor. Joe cursed and sat down hard on the bottom step, then leaned against the railing. Tess cried out, and nearly fell down the stairs to get to him. She was almost beside him when she saw heard Jessica say, "Get away from him!" Jessica was aiming the gun at Tess. "Joe, darling, I'm so sorry. Are you all right? Please say something." Yes, please say something. Tess moved toward Joe again, and Jessica screamed at her, shaking the gun in Tess's direction. "Stay away from him! This is all your fault!" Then, in a sweet, dulcet tone, "Joe." Joe cursed again and moved, holding his left arm. He stood and moved up a couple of steps, placing himself between Tess and the gun.
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"Joe!" Jessica was in tears. A figure moved out of the shadows, beyond Jessica, and the gun flew upward out of her hand as the figure knocked her sideways. The figure picked up the gun. The figure was Rose. Angie stood behind her. Joe finally moved, in Rose's direction. "You're all right," Jessica cried, trying to put her arms around Joe. "You're all right." It took a few minutes for Tess, or any of them, for that matter, to take in what had happened. Jessica had hit Ned with the ceramic umbrella stand from the foyer. "I didn't want him to shoot Joe. I was so afraid he'd hurt you, Joe. Are you okay?" Joe's left upper arm was bleeding, but he stood and nodded. "I'm okay." They all looked at Ned, who lay still on the living room floor. Joe moved over to him and felt for a pulse at the man's neck. "Is he dead?" Jessica asked. Joe shook his head. Then he said to Tess, "Let's find something to restrain him, in case he comes to. I don't want to take any chances. Where's the gun?" He turned around, searching. Rose moved forward, the gun in her hand at her side. "I have it. What did he want? Do you know, Jessica?" "Something she has." Jessica pointed at Tess. "She's the reason for this." Joe, Angie and Rose all looked up at Tess. Tess nodded. "I think I know what he wanted, but I don't have it. Joe, your arm." She finally took another step toward him, and then was beside him, ecstatic that he was alive, that he was standing. He looked down at his arm and nodded. "It hurts like hell, but I think it's only a nick. I'll take a look at it once Ned is restrained. Come with me, Tess." He brought the flashlight, and he and Tess went to the kitchen pantry, where he found a roll of duct tape. Joe took it out and secured Ned's hands and feet, moving him as little as possible to do so. "We may need to improve on this once he comes to, but I don't want to risk injuring him further by moving him, for now." Next Joe took a paper bag and had Rose drop the gun into it. He closed the bag and taped it shut. "We'll hold onto this for the sheriff." By now all the other guests had congregated in the living room. All but Tess, Paige and Harry were still in their street clothes from last night. Ed was in the kitchen already, calling the sheriff.
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Everyone felt chilled, now the excitement was over. So they set about building up the fires in the hearths again, and thought about breakfast. There was nothing else they could do. After contacting the sheriff, Ed remained with Ned, to keep an eye on him. "It'll be hours before they can get here, with this storm and the snow it's dropped." Joe finally let Tess look at his arm, in the upstairs studio, by the light of the flashlight. He told her where to find the first aid kit, in the upstairs linen closet, and he directed her actions as she cleaned and taped up his wound. She found a fresh shirt of her father's for him. "What about the gun?" Tess finally said, eyeing the paper bag, which lay on the bed now. "I don't want it where Jessica can get to it. I know she says she was trying to save you, but I don't trust her." "Here." Joe handed the bag with the gun in it to Tess. "Hide it somewhere in the house, and don't tell anyone where you're putting it until the sheriff arrives." Joe lay down on the bed. "Oh, man, what a morning." "Harry, Laura and Rose are fixing us all some breakfast," Paige said, coming into the room. "Is it over now? Was Ned Trent's accomplice yesterday? Did they kill Tess's family?" Joe sat up. "We don't know. Tess, do you have any idea what Ned was talking about? He wanted a blouse." "The blouse is with the sheriff now," Paige said. "What blouse?" Joe asked, exasperated. Tess explained to him, about Trent's attempted rape eleven years ago, about the blouse Paige had found in Spence's backpack. She told him about her visit to Karen yesterday. She repeated Harry's theory of how the tire on her family's van was damaged. Finally, Tess told Joe about the blackmail letters she'd received. He took it all in, listening in silence. Ed sent word up, via Paige, that Ned Cambridge was conscious but not talking. Breakfast was ready. Joe and Tess headed downstairs. Angie fidgeted more now than she had last night. "I have half a mind to take that snowmobile out there and head back to Stoneway to make sure my guests are okay." "Angie, will you stop? You're obsessed," Kevin said, beside her. "You can't control everything, you know." Angie glared at him. Then she asked Joe, "What did you do with the gun?" "It's in a safe place," Tess said, and that was all she said. She'd hidden it away in the upstairs linen closet, in the back corner of the topmost shelf, behind a pile of her mother's old lace.
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"As much as I know you'd like to borrow that snowmobile," Joe told Angie, "No one's going to touch it until the sheriff gets here." "Fair enough." Angie nodded. "I guess maybe I could use a day off. Good thing too," she said with a glance out the window. "Because it's snowing again." They all groaned. Paige looked at Tess. "Have you had enough fun in the snow yet? Have you made enough snow angels? Can we go home now? Oh, I forgot, you're getting married. Joe, are you going to make her live in this? She has a perfectly good house overlooking a canyon, in L.A. There hasn't been a blizzard there since the last ice age." "What was that blouse Ned was talking about?" Kevin asked. "Tess, do you know? He seemed awfully worked up about it. Maybe we should ask him, now that he's awake." Tess shook her head. "I don't think--" She didn't want to talk about Trent's attack on her in front of so many people. "I'd like to ask him why he was stupid enough to break in, with all those cars parked out front," Laura said. "I keep my money in his bank. You like to think bankers are smarter than that." "Maybe he didn't notice them under all that snow," Rose said. "The lights were out." "Maybe he rode in the back way," Kevin said. Paige looked at Tess. "Is there a back way?" "We should save any discussion or questioning for the sheriff," Joe said helpfully, his gaze on Tess. "Right," Ed said. "Once the power is back on and the snow removal gets underway we can concentrate on digging ourselves out of here so Tess and Joe can have some privacy to plan a wedding." He winked at Tess. "In the meantime, let's try to relax. The crisis is over." Chapter 21 Once the storm appeared to have ceased for good, and they knew the roads would soon be passable, the party pitched in with the few shovels and one blower they had, to dig out their cars. By the time they finished Tess finally knew how to operate the blower, the sun was out, and the cold wind had turned to a breeze. They kept an eye on Ned Cambridge, but he remained subdued, and he refused to say another word. Jessica was back to her petulant, spoiled self, and didn't lift a hand to dig her own car out of the snow. She complained of the cold, of not being at home, of the food she was served because it wasn't what she usually ate. She complained, as the snowplow made its lumbering way up the road to free her to leave, that no one here
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liked her. As she said this, she sent a look Tess's way indicating she thought this was entirely Tess's fault. The one person Jessica didn't allow to hear her complaints was her Uncle Ned, whom no one had yet informed that his own niece had bashed him over the head with the umbrella stand. The sheriff himself came, with Deputy Prescott and a couple of others. Once Duane Prescott had taken Ned away, and all the other guests besides Harry and Paige had been questioned and allowed to go home, Sheriff Kendall sat down with Joe and Tess in the kitchen to talk to them over coffee. "Hell of a Thanksgiving," he said to Tess with a wry grin. "Laura Greene mentioned the happy news. Best wishes on your engagement." Tess glanced at Joe, who grinned, but looked exhausted as he leaned his head on his good arm, propped on the table. "Ned Cambridge says he's been blackmailed for the past eleven years, with threats to reveal evidence of Trent's criminal behavior. Tess, he says you're the one who's been blackmailing him, with a blouse you were wearing the night Trent tried to rape you." Tess was dumbfounded. "What makes him think it was me?" "It was a woman, and he's always figured you'd be the only one who would want to, or would have evidence of Trent's assault on you eleven years ago. Ned says you financed your magazine and publishing business with money you extorted from him. Do you have anything you want to say about that?" She stared at the sheriff. Joe cursed and started to speak, but the sheriff raised his hand to silence him, and waited for Tess to answer. "I didn't blackmail Ned Cambridge. I wouldn't hold his son's actions against him. All the money I've borrowed or earned in the past eleven years can be accounted for. I'll provide you whatever information you need, to verify that." Sheriff Kendall nodded, taking notes. Tess was angry now. "My partner Paige Chandler's father, Alfred Chandler, financed our magazine startup. We've paid him back through our own hard work. Our accountant has records of every transaction." The sheriff nodded again. "Your partners told me the same thing." He placed his hands flat on the table between them. "Now, we've examined the blackmail letters you've received, and found no fingerprints. The envelope the last letter came in was sealed, and we may be able to get a DNA sample from it. It's at the lab now. Your partner Harry brought us some interesting ideas about what may have been used to damage the tire on your parents' van. We're researching that as well, but we have no suspects yet."
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"You don't think Trent and his father were the ones who invaded my house? Ned came here on a snowmobile this morning." He shook his head. "Trent may have been here that day, but his father was at his bank. We'll check his story, but from what he says there are surveillance video tapes that will verify he was there, as well as numerous eye witnesses to his presence, both employees and bank patrons." "So there's still at least one more person responsible for that," Joe said. Sheriff Kendall looked at Tess. "Possibly for the blackmail and your family's deaths as well." Tess faced him. "I'm in danger?" "You may be." "Do you have any suspects at all, Les?" Joe said. The sheriff looked at Joe. "One person we know of, who may have a motive, can't account for her whereabouts during the invasion here the day before yesterday. She witnessed the Hunters' accident." Tess knew he was thinking of Rose. Joe's lips tightened. "What about Alan Stewart?" "The timing of his arrival that day is questionable. But it was a woman who blackmailed Ned Cambridge. Ned told us that your sister Rose had been dating Trent shortly before Tess says he tried to rape her. I asked your sister about it, and she refused to answer." Joe leaned back, his face darkening. The sheriff turned to Tess. "Can you think of anything else you may have forgotten to mention about Trent, your accident, your family, or the invasion on Wednesday?" "No. Wait--yes. One of my mother's journals is missing." Sheriff Kendall's eyes glinted. "A journal? Like the diary your mother had in her purse at the time of her death?" Tess stared at him for a second. "You found a journal in her purse? Is--was it still there when you returned it to me?" "Yes. Is it missing now?" he was frowning. "It's one of the items we wanted you to look at."
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"I haven't looked inside the purse you returned yet. This would have been an earlier journal, the one from the year of Trent's first attack on me, and my accident a couple of days later. I read part of it a few days ago, but now it's missing." "Les," Joe said. "Tess tells me you never found her father's cane, and she hasn't found it anywhere in the house. Is it possible that, or anything else, was left at the scene of the crash?" "The scene is buried under even more snow, now. If there's anything else there--a cane, you say? That hardly seems significant." "Tess's father left a voice mail saying they were on their way to see you that morning." "Yes. We checked the voice mail." "There must be something you missed. Did you find anything in the glove box, in his pockets, or his wheelchair, anything he might've been bringing to you?" The sheriff looked from Joe to Tess, and back to Joe again. "No." There was something the sheriff wasn't saying, Tess thought. Both she and Joe watched his face, but he didn't say anymore. Finally the sheriff backed his chair away from the kitchen table. "I'm finished here for now." "There's one more thing," Tess said. "I visited Karen Jensen yesterday and asked her about the things we found in Spence's backpack. She didn't say much. Her father thinks she's hiding something because she's scared. She did possibly identify the single key Spence had in his backpack, as a passkey he offered to return to Stoneway for her after she quit her job there. She quit the day after her friend Gail was raped in the parking lot." Sheriff Kendall stood and continued toward the living room. "A passkey, you say? I'll make a note of it." Tess turned from the door after he left, feeling frustrated. Joe turned to her. "Why do I feel, except for the part where they hauled Ned off to jail, that was just a colossal waste of time." He put his arm around Tess, and the gesture gave her the best, most secure feeling she'd had all morning. Paige came down the stairs, on her way to the utility room with an armload of sheets to wash. "I stripped all the upstairs beds and made them up with fresh linens." Tess thanked her profusely. "I never intended for you to spend all your time doing housework while you're here." "It felt good to keep moving," Paige told her. "Oh, I found the journal you were looking for. It was wedged between your box springs and headboard. It was still open to your page, though the page is a little wrinkled. I left it on your nightstand. The kittens are up,
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and they sound h-u-n-g-r-y." Paige glanced at her watch. "Don't forget you're supposed to see Dr. Lloyd today." ### After the kittens were fed and they'd shared a meal with Paige and Harry, Joe and Tess went upstairs and spread the contents of Cathy Hunter's purse out on the bedspread. They found the most recent journal stuffed inside a zipper pocket in the center of the purse, and set it aside with the one Paige had found in the bed. They removed every card, receipt and scrap of paper from Cathy, Spence and Jim Hunter's wallets. They sorted and examined everything, saving the journals for last. "Nothing," Joe finally said, after unfolding the final scrap of notepaper from Cathy's purse. "A shopping list." "Did you get the feeling Sheriff Kendall was keeping something from us?" Tess said. "I've heard they hold back information from an investigation like this, something only the criminal would know." "I hope he does know more than he's telling us, because if not he doesn't know much." Joe picked up the open journal, from eleven years ago, and started reading it while Tess returned items to the purse and wallets. She didn't feel at all anxious to read that journal again. It had hurt her too much the last time. Tess still felt close to tears every time her mother's words came back to her. I hope I get my little girl back, the way she used to be. She shivered, and Joe glanced at her. Then he turned the page and kept reading. Tess picked up the other journal, the one from this year, which had been in her mother's purse. "Wait." Joe touched her arm. "You should read this first, Tess." "I've read all of that one I can take." "I know the last page you read hurt you, but you have to understand how frightened your mother was for you and Spence when she wrote that. She was an emotional wreck, herself, then. You'd nearly been killed. Read on. The next entry is dated three days later. Here." He pressed it into her hand. She reluctantly took the journal from him and read it. "I was so wrong. How could I have thought those words I wrote here last, let alone write them? I almost tore out the page and burned it, but I've decided to keep it as a lesson to myself. "It's not Tess I should've doubted. Spence tried to tell me that first night, and I didn't understand, couldn't understand. But the sheriff questioned her other friends and most of them confirmed there was no party. They all thought she was home, babysitting. They
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said she loved to take care of Spence. Oh my poor Tess, what did we do to you, setting you up with that horrible person? "Tess's father thinks it may have been Trent who was driving my car. The car keys are still missing, they weren't found at the scene. Jim says Tess's injuries aren't consistent with her being in the driver's seat. The emergency room doctor agrees. Her blood was found on the passenger's side. Jim thinks she was moved to the driver's side after the impact, and he's trying to get the sheriff to investigate Trent. Spence thinks someone forced Tess to leave the house that night. He says she was fun before that, just 'regular Tess,' playing with him, letting him have milk and cookies while she read him a story. After he went to bed Spence heard a noise downstairs. He called down to Tess and she told him to go back to bed. In Spence's words, 'She sounded quivery, like she was crying.'" Tess looked up at Joe in amazement. "That's what I remembered on Wednesday, Spence asking me why I was crying, and me telling him to go back to bed." Then realization struck her. "She knew. They believed me. My mother knew I didn't--" "Finish reading it," Joe said. "Spence heard another voice, too, when he got up and peeked over the stair rail. Tess was being pulled forcibly out of the house through the entry hall. Spence couldn't see who, but he says they had a man's voice, and they said she'd pay. "The sheriff says he can't arrest Trent without more evidence, and Tess was the one with alcohol and drugs in her system. We don't think they'll charge her now, though, because they can't prove she drove the car, and the keys are still missing. "Tess told me Trent tried to rape her. I didn't believe her at first, but now I'm frightened for Tess. Her father and I feel so helpless to protect her, and Trent keeps coming here wanting to see her. We haven't told her, we don't want to frighten her. We're thinking of sending her to Aunt Christine's. She'll be safer there, until this blows over or they can arrest him. But they need proof." Tess looked at Joe. There was more, but she'd read enough for now. She put the journal down, her gaze lingering on it. "They were afraid for me. Afraid of Trent hurting me again. I'm not so sure they were wrong, after the past few days. If I'd come home and learned Dad was ill, I would've wanted to stay, or at least visit often, and Trent clearly didn't intend to leave me alone. I wish they hadn't decided for me. I wish they'd talked it over with me." "Tess, why did you allow me to think you didn't want to see them?" She met Joe's look. "Because I didn't know why they kept me away. I thought they believed me guilty of leaving Spence alone to run off and party that night, that they were afraid I'd be a bad influence, or a danger to him. I could see how much you cared for them. What would you have thought if you knew what my parents had done and not why? I wasn't sure you'd even believe me." Tess spoke slowly, her grief resurfacing, but with a new depth. She no longer felt the shock, the resentment, the anger and confusion clouding her feelings for her family, but she missed them, and she would for a long time.
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She brushed tears from her eyes. "I thought I'd lost their trust and love forever, through no fault of my own. I lost my little brother." Joe took her in his arms. "It must've been hard for you, to feel alone all those years, to miss seeing Spence grow up. No wonder you buried yourself in your work." "No. I--" she began, but paused as she met his gaze. She had done that for a long time. "Well, there are worse substitutes." "Like last fall, when you celebrated Thanksgiving in a restaurant with another lonely friend and you got quietly drunk together?" She winced at his words. "Harry had no right to tell you that." "Harry cares a lot about you. A lot of people do." They paused at a mew, and found two kittens sitting on the bed with them. Joe chuckled and said, "These two can't stand to be away from you for long, either." The kittens took up their attention for a few minutes before they decided to continue on to the latest journal. Joe proposed that they work their way through it backward from the last entry, and he picked it up to read out loud. "I spoke to Rose about Angie's call, and I begin to see things from a new perspective. I think she's jealous of Tess! It doesn't make sense, but I've been thinking a lot about Tess, and talking to Rose about her and her friends the past few days, ever since Peter Lloyd asked us about her. Rose must be sick to death of hearing me go on. I remember that boy Tess was dating, the one we thought was so terrible. Alan Stewart. I ran into him a few weeks ago. He was with his son, Tyler. I've never seen a more well-behaved or happier little boy. He reminded me of Spence at that age, or of Joseph. So, could Alan ever have been so bad? I mentioned him to Angie yesterday. She didn't say a word. In fact, she was a lot quieter than usual. It made me wonder why she called." Joe paused and met Tess's gaze. "That must have been after I called Angie to arrange my visit. She was keeping my call a secret. I wanted to surprise them, but I asked Angie to find out if they'd be in town for the holidays." Tess didn't voice the question in her mind. "I think she's jealous of Tess!" Had her mother written that about Rose or Angie? Tess glanced at Joe. He continued reading. "Spence is upset about Trent, suddenly, insisting we talk to Tess about him. He's writing everything down that he remembers about that night. Karen is here helping him with it, though I don't see how she can. Spence seems to be on his own mission now. He's talking about evidence, he mentioned the car keys from that night. I don't know what to make of it. He worries me, he's so driven, and so angry. I'm sure there's something he's not telling us. Jim has agreed to call Tess. We do need to talk to her. We'll take our letters to the sheriff on Monday. Peter Lloyd is right, we can't let Trent continue to hurt people. I think Tess will agree, once she knows he's still at it.
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"I'm so worked up worrying about this and about Spence that I'm not making sense, here where I usually sort things out. Jim is thinking of inviting Tess home for the holidays. That's the one joyful thing in all of this. I'm afraid to tell Spence. I don't want to get his hopes up." Tess sat up, fighting tears again, but holding them in, wanting to get to the bottom of the questions. "Joe, I think Karen knows more than she told me, about the blouse, and the keys. The other journal said the keys were missing from my mother's car after the accident. How could I have removed the keys? I was unconscious. Maybe those are the keys we found in Spence's backpack." Joe nodded. "We need to talk to Karen again. We also need to tell the sheriff about the letters they wrote, and remind him of those keys." He glanced at his watch. "First you need to get to your appointment." ### While Joe made a call to the sheriff, Tess helped Paige fold clean sheets. Paige told Tess she and Harry were leaving shortly to go back to Stoneway, get the last of their luggage, and check out. "Harry needs to get back to L.A. The storm dumped a lot of rain in San Francisco, too. The printer there had a flood, so he has to get the files to our backup printer. I'll stay here with you for a couple more days, but Harry's heading back today. He's at Rose's house now, saying goodbye." Paige wore a pensive look. "We may need to move our whole operation up here." "Don't worry, Paige. We'll work it out." "I know, but you know how I hate change. Coming out here from the East Coast about ripped my guts out." "Somehow I don't recall it being that gruesome," Tess teased. "I kept it all inside." "You came out here for me, because I said I wanted to live in California, didn't you." Paige met her look and smiled benignly. "What else was I going to do? I pushed you into this business. The least I could do was let you live where you wanted." She was silent a few seconds and then said, "I called Daddy yesterday morning, while you were out driving around and I was worried about you. I told him you were burned out with the magazine and cookbooks. He said of course you were. He said it was time for you to start something new."
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Tess met Paige's look. Paige smiled at her, and there was something in her eyes, a kind of acceptance and affection, that made Tess realize they would always be friends. "I love you, too," Tess said. Paige's smile broadened. "You're not going to quit on us to become a stay-at-home mom, are you?" Tess smiled. "I need time to step back and take stock of where I'm going. You and I will always be partners, you know, in one thing or another." "In crime, no doubt." Paige continued to smile. "I told Daddy it looked like you might be starting something new already. He asked what. When I told him about the bakery, he said that's not what he meant. He said you need to start a new magazine. He suggested one having to do with art." Tess paused, taking this in with renewed interest. She nodded. "It does make me want to think." She looked at Paige. "I always admired your dad." "Me too." Paige was beaming now. "When are you getting married?" "We haven't had a chance to talk about it, but I think soon. I don't want anything fancy, I just want to marry him quick. Whenever it happens, I want you and Harry to be there." When Joe got off the phone he was in a hurry to leave. "Duane Prescott will meet us at Peter Lloyd's office and head to Karen Jensen's house with us," he told Tess on their way out. Chapter 22 "What throws me is Ned Cambridge thinking I blackmailed him," Tess said on the drive back from Wilder to the Jensens' house. They were in her rental car. Joe was driving. The sky was fading to dusk already, with a new batch of clouds moving in, thankfully without the same threat they'd held two days ago. "Ned Cambridge is the last person I'd take money from." Tess caught herself and sent Joe a guilty look. "I'm sorry." He grinned. "It's okay. I don't think he ever intended to fund my project. I was a fool to let him string me along the way he did." "You didn't suspect me of blackmailing Ned, did you, when you first heard that?" "Maybe for about half a second, and only because I was in shock at the time. I'm more concerned about Rose's possible involvement in what's been going on." "Why? You know Rose better than you know me." "Because she had more reason--" "Trent tried to rape me!"
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"--and maybe less resilience. You didn't let yourself be traumatized for long, did you." He didn't ask it, he stated it. "I know you're afraid of Trent, and what happened on Wednesday terrified you, for good reason, but it's not a morbid or unreasonable fear, is it? It's not the fear it would have been if he'd succeeded back then." "No." "Your accident had a more lasting effect, because it robbed you of your family." She nodded, but he didn't see it. He watched the road ahead. "Tell me about that night again. Every detail you can remember. See yourself there." Tess sighed. She didn't want to go over it again, but she needed any answers she could find in those memories. "My parents went to dinner with friends." "What friends?" "I'm not sure. They left a note with the number on the refrigerator. They always did that. When they left, Spence and I were in the kitchen eating our dinner. When we finished, I cleaned up and then made cookie dough. I opened the back door and all the windows, to keep the oven from heating up the house too much. We played a board game. A couple of friends called, but I told them I was busy. I let Spence have warm cookies, with milk. I drank lemonade. We played his board game until it was time for his bath. He was only six, so he had an early bedtime, eight-thirty, I think. I stayed upstairs to read to him." Tess paused, blinking. "After that I woke up, in the hospital. But what I remembered this Wednesday must've come after his bath. I was standing in the foyer, telling Spence to go back to bed. He asked me why I was crying." "Were you frightened?" Tess looked at Joe. "I don't know. The memory makes me feel numb, sad, and . . . fuzzy." She shook her head, shaking off that feeling. Then she looked at Joe. "I was drugged. It must have been after I was drugged. Now that I think back, it's close to the way I felt at Trent's, a couple of nights earlier, when he drugged me, only this was more pronounced." "If you were under the influence of drugs then, but not earlier, you must have been drugged somehow after you gave Spence his bath. Think back. Did you lock up the house before you and Spence went upstairs for his bath?" "No. It was a hot night. Besides, we rarely locked up the house until everyone went to bed." "Think about this, Tess. Did you eat or drink anything after you put Spence to bed and returned downstairs?" She tried to recall, but finally shook her head. "I don't know." "You'd been drinking lemonade earlier, you said. Did you take it upstairs with you?"
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"I don't think so. I don't know." "Who knew you were at home alone with Spence that night? Which friends called you?" "Alan, and a girl whose name I don't recall. I barely knew her." "Alan?" "We'd been dating, until a few days earlier, when my parents insisted I stop seeing him. He called me that night to ask if they'd changed their mind, or if I had." "The girl whose name you don't recall. Would she have any reason to want to hurt you?" "No. I didn't know her. She was someone from Mom's church. Mom was trying to get me to start attending again." "Why were your parents so worried about your friends, and you going to church?" "Good question. My parents decided my newer friends were somehow leading me astray. Honestly, Mom kept talking about Alan as if he were a criminal. You know Alan. I have no idea why she was so suspicious of him. She had no good reason." Joe didn't comment on Alan. "Did anyone else know you'd be home that night? Who did you tell earlier?" "I'd planned it a week or so in advance. A lot of my friends knew. The people at Stoneway knew. Angie knew. I worked part-time in the kitchen there that summer." "Did you mention to Trent, during your date, that you'd be home with Spence that night?" "No. That was a one-sided conversation, all about Trent's car and his skiing trips, hunting and things like that." "Skiing and hunting? Did Trent know Angie back then? Could she have mentioned to him where you were going to be that night?" Tess looked at Joe. "Angie knew who he was, but-- No, you see, Angie knew he'd tried to rape me. She was the only person who knew. I hadn't told anyone else." Joe frowned at her. "When did you tell Angie?" "The night Trent tried to rape me. I had a bad feeling about him driving me to his house after dinner, without asking me first. His parents and sister were out of town. When he went to his kitchen to get our drinks, I called Mom to tell her where I was. Then I called Angie. I gave her the phone number and asked her to come get me if I paged her from there. She had the beeper for the airport shuttle. She used to drive it on the regular driver's day off. I didn't call her back, but someone called while Trent was on top of me. He let it ring. Angie said later that was her. When there was no answer she started to worry. She drove up and found me on the road, running away from his house. She
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rescued me. She was the only one who knew about him trying to rape me, until after my accident, when I told my parents." A sudden thought occurred to Tess. She picked up the two journals on the seat between them, turned on the dome light because dusk had fallen, and thumbed through the earlier one. "What are you looking for?" "When I told my parents what Trent had done, I told them to ask Angie about it, because I was afraid they didn't believe me. They assured me they would, but Angie says they never did. That doesn't fit, does it? They would've asked her." Joe pulled up in front of the Jensen house, and nodded toward the marked sheriff's vehicle already there. "Here's Duane." He and opened his door. Tess would have to look through the journal later. She opened her own door and got out, still thinking about Trent, and that evening at his guest house. He'd drugged her. She tried to recall how the drug had made her feel, comparing that feeling to her fuzzy memory of seeing Spence on the stairs a couple of nights later. She'd sat on Trent's couch, looking at a painting on his wall. Tess suddenly made a connection. "The painting!" She paused on the front steps of the Jensen house, and saw in her mind's eye the painting in the dining room at Stoneway. The same painting Trent had on the wall of his guest house eleven years ago. A hunt scene. "But why?" Joe turned to look at her. So did Duane Prescott, his finger already pressing the Jensens' doorbell. Margaret Jensen came to the door. She didn't look happy to see the three of them, but she let them in and called her husband out to the front room. "We'd like to speak to Karen, Mr. Jensen," Duane said in a formal tone. Hank Jensen didn't argue or ask questions. He told his wife to get Karen and invited them into the family room. "I called Kevin Norwood yesterday, after you left here," Hank Jensen told Tess. "I told him you found the passkey, that it was in safe hands. I insisted they pay Karen, or I'd take it up with my attorney. Angie Norwood delivered a check here for Karen, a few minutes ago. Do you still have that key?" "No." Tess gestured toward Duane in his blue uniform. "The sheriff does." Karen came into the room from the kitchen, and took a seat beside her mother. She didn't look happy, in spite of having gotten her paycheck. Tess saw something more than grief written in her face. Something besides losing Spence still troubled her.
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Duane, already primed from his conversation with Joe earlier, started right in. "Karen, according to Cathy Hunter's journal, you helped Spence write a letter to the sheriff about Trent Cambridge." Karen opened her mouth. Her mother turned to look at her. "Can you tell us what was in that letter?" Karen shook her head no, slowly. "I understand you used to work at Stoneway until a few days ago," Duane went on, undeterred. "What kind of work did you do there?" "Housekeeping." "Did you clean the guests' rooms?" "Sometimes, but I usually worked on the ground floor, cleaning the common rooms and the offices." Karen chewed her lower lip. Duane nodded. "Sounds like a decent job. Why'd you quit?" Karen took a deep breath and looked at her mother. "I needed to spend more time studying." "Karen, there were some items in Spence's backpack that we're curious about. One was a blouse that had been torn." Her eyes were wide now. "Tess Hunter identified the blouse as hers, but says she lost it eleven years ago. She doesn't know how it got into Spence's possession. Do you?" Karen's eyes had filled with tears. She nodded, sobbing. Her mother held her close and handed her a tissue. It was a moment before Karen appeared ready to speak. "Karen," Duane said softly. "Did that blouse have anything to do with you quitting your job?" "I couldn't go back there again, to Stoneway. I was too scared. I didn't think anyone would believe me, and I knew what they did to Spence's sister, years ago. They almost killed her. They ruined her reputation; people still gossip about her. Spence made me promise not to say anything or go back. He wanted me to be safe. So I called and told Kevin Norwood that I needed to quit to keep up with school. Angie called me back and tried to get me to stay on until after the holidays, but I said no, so she told me to come by as soon as I could to return my key, and she'd cut my last paycheck." Karen looked from Joe to Duane, then drew a shuddering breath.
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"That key," Duane said. "Was it one of those new plastic cardkeys? Can't they void those?" "No. This was for the offices. It was a regular metal key. Spence offered to return it for me, so I gave it to him. That's why he's dead." Karen broke down in tears again. Duane looked at Tess and Joe, and they all waited for Karen to stop crying long enough to continue talking. Hank Jensen got up and offered them coffee, looking disturbed, as if he needed to escape while his daughter wept. Karen's mother remained beside her on the sofa with one arm around her. Hank came back with hot drinks about the same time Karen's sobs subsided. "Karen, I know this is upsetting for you," Duane said, "but why were you scared to go back to Stoneway? What scared you?" Karen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I overheard an argument, a few days before Spence's accident." "Will you tell me what you overheard?" Karen nodded. "I was trying to get a chance to clean Angie's office." Karen finally began talking freely now. She painted a thorough picture for them of the scene she'd witnessed. Tess felt something die inside her as she listened. Karen had stood outside the office, in front of the reception desk, waiting. Angie never wanted Karen to clean while she was working in her office, and she'd been in there all day, so Karen hadn't had a chance to get to it. Now she feared Angie would be angry if it didn't get cleaned today. So Karen waited for Angie to come out, planning to ask her if she could clean it now. She'd stowed her cleaning cart out of the way in the next room, because Angie hated it to be left sitting in the lobby. The office door was closed, and Angie was in there talking to someone in an angry tone. "Ned wants the blouse," Angie said. "He says the statute of limitations has run out, or something like that. He sounds like a freaking lawyer. If we give him the blouse he'll pay this last time, but that's it. If we don't give it to your dad he says he's going to turn us in." "Us?" a male voice said. "Well, Tess." Angie chuckled. "So give him the blouse." Angie said something in a low tone that Karen couldn't hear. The man said, "You want me to do one of your guests?"
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"Yes, and bring back some evidence. We'll keep milking your dad. He won't want a scandal. He'll figure out he's not dealing with Tess, but he still won't know who we are." "Are you nuts? This is getting out of hand, Angie." "Oh, have you suddenly developed a conscience? Excuse me. Don't try to tell me you haven't raped anyone since you tried it with Tess. I won't believe it. I doubt she was the first." "Let's give the blouse to him. It's making me nervous. He's always asking me where I get my money." Angie laughed. "Where do you get all your money? You've never worked a day in your life." "Just give him the damned blouse!" Karen heard a slide and bang like the slamming of a drawer shut. "That's where the blouse is staying." The office door had been closed, but now the doorknob turned, with a small noise. Karen moved. She scurried behind the big, stuffed black bear next to the reception desk, and she stayed there behind the bear as the man strode out into the lobby. She peered past the bear's outstretched foreleg and paw. The man was Trent Cambridge. She'd seen him visit Angie here before. Trent stopped, turned around, and looked about to walk back into Angie's office. He stood in the lobby for a minute, breathing hard, looking furious. Karen feared he would come past her and see where she hid, and it was all she could do to keep still and quiet, but eventually Trent went out the front door. As Karen described seeing Trent leave, she looked forlorn, and near tears again. "He must have done what Angie told him to do, because that's the night Gail was raped in that parking lot." "What?" Hank Jensen said. He'd been pacing while his daughter told her story. Karen glanced at him. "That's the night he raped Gail." She turned back to Duane. "By the time I heard about it, I'd already called Kevin, to quit my job. After I heard what happened to Gail, I told Spence about the argument I'd heard, that I was afraid to go back there. Spence offered to return the passkey for me. I told Spence about the bottom desk drawer Angie always kept locked. I'd seen her stop to lock it, or check that it was locked, whenever she left her office to let me clean. "Spence went there late one night and used my passkey to get into Angie's office. He broke into that drawer. He found the blouse there, and a set of keys. Spence found out later they were his mom's keys, the ones missing from Tess's accident. Spence wrote a
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letter to take to the sheriff, and he got me to write one about the argument I'd heard. The morning of their accident, they were planning to see the sheriff with those letters." "But they didn't take the blouse with them that morning," Tess said. "It was in Spence's backpack, in his room." "They wanted to make sure the sheriff would listen first, that it was enough to prove you didn't cause that accident. They were worried about that, because it made you look bad that it was never resolved. Spence had always been angry about that, about the gossip. They thought your accident was an attempted murder." "Karen, have you told anyone else about this?" Duane asked her. "No. The only one I told before tonight was Spence. He told his parents, but they were the ones who warned us not to talk about it. They told me I should tell my parents." She looked at her mom. "But I was afraid you'd never let me get another job." "You're only sixteen," Margaret Jensen told her daughter. "You'll have plenty of time for jobs, once you're done with school." "Can you do anything about this?" Hank Jensen asked Duane, visibly upset. He'd been on his feet for the past few minutes, pacing, while his daughter told her story. "Karen's not in danger, is she? Angie was just here." Duane called for a deputy to watch the Jensens' house. He left to head over to Stoneway, to pick Angie up for questioning. Tess and Joe went out to their car in silence, and drove back to Tess's house. Full darkness had fallen, and the porch light was off. Tess followed Joe up to the door, and then remembered the journals, still in the car. "I'll be right in." She went back for them while Joe unlocked the front door. Tess had just opened the car door when she heard an odd noise inside the house, a thud and then a groan. "Joe?" she called. The front door was still open. She ran up the steps to the house--and stopped outside the front door. Angie stood in the doorway of the study with a shovel in her hands. She dropped it, then looked out and saw Tess. She pulled a handgun out of her jacket and aimed it at Tess. She came out and closed the front door behind her, as Tess caught a glimpse of Joe lying on the entry hall floor. "Joe!" Tess called. "What did you do to him?" Angie held the gun on Tess, and ordered her over to the car. There she told her to turn around, and she taped Tess's hands behind her with duct tape--possibly the same tape Joe had used earlier on Ned Cambridge. She worked quickly and then opened the
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passenger door. "Get in the car." Once Tess was in, Angie taped her ankles together as well. She did all this in a hurry, as if every second counted. "Don't go anywhere," she said with a laugh. "I'll be right back." Angie closed the car and locked it, then ran back to the house, while Tess fought frantically with the tape on her wrists. She found, by feeling with her fingers, that in her haste Angie hadn't put many layers of the tape on, two at the most, and there was one spot where she'd left a narrow section of one layer without any overlap. Tess hoped to be able to tear it. She worried about what Angie was doing inside the house, to Joe, or to anything or anyone else. Paige had still been here when they left, waiting for Harry to get back from visiting Rose so she could take him to the airport. That was a good three hours ago. Had Paige returned? Was Joe alive? Tess felt desperate to know, and this only served to make her more frantic to get out of her bonds. Angie was gone for several minutes, so she had enough time to get one end of the tape loose. If only she could reach it with her teeth. It was so sticky, even where she'd loosened it, that it was difficult to make progress. Angie came back out and closed the front door behind her. She slid into the driver's seat of the rental car and put on her seatbelt. Then she placed the gun on her lap, pointed in Tess's direction. She inserted the ignition key, which had been in Joe's hand when he entered the house, and started the car. Chapter 23 Angie drove like a maniac, sending Tess, without a seatbelt, lurching to one side or the other every time Angie swung around a curve. At one point, when Angie lost control of the car for an instant, Tess screamed. "Shut up!" Angie snarled. "Angie, why? I don't understand. When did you start hating me?" "The night you ran away from Trent was the turning point. I rescued you, and later that night all you did was whine about your parents not letting you see Alan freaking Stewart anymore." "I was upset, I'd been attacked." "I saved your ass!" Angie turned toward her. "You dumped me for those moronic freaks, when I was busy trying to save Stoneway, and taking care of my grandfather who was dying! All you cared about anymore was painting with your new pals. You abandoned me like they did." They? Tess realized all at once what Angie was talking about. "Like your parents?" They'd abandoned Angie and Kevin because of their drug habit. Angie didn't answer. She wore a grim expression.
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"I never meant to abandon you, Angie." Yes, she'd known Angie was busy working, and that her grandfather was sick. Tess had her studies, she was getting ready for college. Tess felt bad about that, but she'd been a kid herself. How could Angie think Tess's neglect of her excused blackmail and murder? So many deaths. "You and your perfect life, your perfect parents who you didn't even appreciate. 'They don't understand me!' That's all you used to say about them. God, I was sick of hearing you whine about that. At least your parents didn't leave you with your grandfather so they could go off and be high for the rest of their lives. At least yours weren't spaced into oblivion, living on the Sacramento streets like sewage! Kevin and I would've been in foster homes if not for Granddad, and when he was dying my best friend was nowhere to be found. I tried to get you away from your new friends, by telling your parents that they were druggies, and that Alan was into weird religious rituals. It was working, too. They made you stop seeing Alan. "But that night, I knew you didn't give a damn anymore about me. You were gone on Alan Stewart, whining how unfair your parents were. So I took your blouse out of your bag before you went home the next morning, and I called Trent Cambridge. I told him I'd go to the cops unless he paid me. I told him I had the torn blouse and could prove he'd tried to rape you. I told him I'd been looking in the windows. You'd told me the whole story, so I knew the details, right down to the painting in his living room." Angie wore a crazed grin now. "He laughed! He said I'd called the wrong person, that he didn't have any money, but he would help me get the money I wanted from his father, if I cut him in. All I had to do was give him the blouse. I said fine, as long as we let his dad think it was you who was blackmailing him." While she talked, Angie headed the car down the winding hill road. "Trent didn't get the blouse, but eventually your little brother did. I still don't know how he managed that, but I suspect it has something to do with Karen quitting her job. She started crying every time Kevin or I asked her for the passkey. Right after you called to make reservations, and I contacted your mom, Spence called me back and told me he had the blouse, that he was taking it to the sheriff along with a letter he'd written. I told Trent, and we waited outside the house for them that morning. "Man, your dad looked scared when they came out and saw us on the snowmobiles, and he was stuck in that wheelchair. He tried to get up, but he fell. Spence had to help him back into his chair. They were so scared they drove off and left your dad's cane lying there in the snow beside the walkway. "We followed them on the snowmobiles. I had my crossbow with me, and I wasn't about to lose Stoneway because of them, not after all the work I've done. I wanted to kill Spence, I was so angry, but I was shooting from the snowmobile and I hit one of the tires instead. The van skidded off the road and rolled down the slope into the trees. I retrieved the bolt from the road, and the sheriff didn't suspect a thing, until you got here." Angie stopped the car. She turned off the engine and lights. Tess glanced out and saw that Angie had parked in the pullout at the curve where Tess's family had gone off the road. Tess knew in that instant that Angie intended to kill her. Tess desperately stalled for time.
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She shifted around in her seat to face Angie. "They suspected something from the start. They know it was you, Angie. My family wrote letters to the sheriff." Tess continued to work the tape off her hands. She nearly had it. A little longer, please! Tess paused in her struggle while Angie looked at her for a few seconds before speaking. "Trent took the snowmobile a ways down the gully, where the slope isn't as steep, and he scrambled down there before help arrived. He pried open the glove box and found the letters they'd written. Then he swept his tracks with a tree branch. He didn't find the blouse though. It's still in your house somewhere, with your mother's keys. Doesn't matter. I'll find it." "You can't hide this forever. You've gone too far." Angie laughed. "This morning I overheard Paige ask Harry if Rose had told him where she was when Trent and I searched your house Wednesday. I could tell they were both concerned about Rose's missing time. She doesn't have an alibi, and she was the first one on the scene of your family's crash. So I planted some evidence in her car, and I sent the sheriff an anonymous note, outlining how Rose had been blackmailing Trent's father all these years, making him think it was you. The letter should get there tomorrow. That leaves me all night to find the blouse, the keys, and the original letters. Now that I have these." Angie nodded toward the two journals on the seat between her and Tess. All night? What about Joe? What had she done to Joe? "Original letters?" Tess repeated. "The ones Trent found in the glove box were copies. We burned them, but we never found the originals." The tape had stretched, and Tess had worked it down over her hands, but it had stuck to them. It was working off. "I told the sheriff today, I remember that night now," Tess said, lying to buy time, and hoping that her plan would work. She would have only one chance. "I told him you were there at the house, the night of my accident. Spence and I were upstairs, and you drugged my lemonade. Then you and Trent dragged me out to my mom's car. I told Spence to go back to bed when he asked why I was crying. Remember that?" Angie's eyes widened, and her face registered a new expression all at once. Shock, or worry? "Were you the one driving my mom's car? No, that must have been Trent. He jumped out at the last minute and then moved me into the driver's seat after the accident. But you took the keys, didn't you, so you'd have evidence against him. So you could control him." Tess had her hands loose now.
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Angie had turned her back, to get out of the car. She held a flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other. Now she rummaged in her pocket for something, with the flashlight in one hand. Where was the gun? Tess spotted it tucked into Angie's waistband. Angie came around to Tess's door and opened it. Tess shifted so she faced Angie, to hide her hands, which were free now. Angie had a knife in one hand. Tess blinked her eyes as the flashlight came on, and she was temporarily blinded. Then Angie bent to cut the tape at her ankles. Angie couldn't be holding the flashlight and gun in the same hand. The gun must still be in her waistband. She stooped to cut the tape from Tess's ankles. "What was the evidence you left in Rose's car?" Tess said as Angie freed her feet. Angie paused, bent over with the knife still in her right hand. Tess barreled out of the car into her, and heard the wind suck out of Angie's lungs as she hit the ground. Tess felt around Angie's waist for the gun, while Angie flailed her arms, gasping for breath and striking at Tess with the knife. Tess felt the gun beneath her. She backed away enough to grab it and then rolled out of Angie's reach. Tess stood and backed away, trying to gauge, without looking behind her, how close she was to the drop off. She didn't dare take her eyes off Angie. All of a sudden Angie laughed. "You won't shoot me. You can't shoot a deer! Look at you. You have no idea what you're doing with that thing." Tess thought about that, and knew if Angie came a step nearer she would shoot. But she'd never used a gun before, so she wasn't certain she could operate the thing. Tess leveled the gun at her. "I planted a crossbow and bolts with double-bladed broadheads in Rose's car, the same one I used to shoot the van's tire. Did you know when Rose and Trent were dating they used to practice archery together? Until she got fat again and he grew disgusted with her. I visited Alan's gallery last week, and I heard Rose mention she needed to learn something about hunting. I offered to loan her my books. She came to Stoneway to get them. She was fascinated with my crossbow and had never used one, so I let her fiddle around with it. Her fingerprints are all over it." Angie moved closer to Tess. "Aren't you going to shoot me?" She kept coming closer. Tess took aim and fired. Then Tess was falling, sliding backwards, into the gully, falling and sliding in the snow down the steep slope. She flailed her arms, and then grasped at the branch of a bare shrub as her body slid over it. She grabbed and held on, the bark and smaller twigs scraping and biting into her hand as she shifted her grip to the thicker base of the branch, praying it wouldn't break. It held her weight, for now. She held onto the branch, which was all that kept her from tumbling the rest of the way down, through the snow and rocks, to the place where her family had died.
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Tess held on, and peered up at the side of the road, wondering if Angie was dead, wondering if anyone would find her here before she lost her cold, bare-fingered grip and fell the rest of the way. Then she saw the beam from the flashlight. Angie's head appeared there above her. Angie towered above Tess, up there on the roadside, looking down from what seemed an immense height. The beam of the light hit Tess in the face, blinding her. She heard Angie laugh. "You missed. Has a hell of a kick, doesn't it?" The beam of the light moved. When Tess was able to focus, she saw that Angie held the gun now. She aimed it at Tess. The bush Tess held onto had grown out beneath and to the left of a large overhanging rock. Tess shifted, and tried to squeeze herself against the face of the slope, under the rock where Angie couldn't see her. But Tess's fingers were numbing with the intense cold, her hands aching and shooting sharp pains up her forearms. She didn't know how long she could hold on, or how long the branch would. She strained to keep her grip while Angie simply moved further down the road, and took clear aim at Tess again. All Tess could do was hang there and pray. Angie glanced over her shoulder at the sound of an engine, and Tess recognized the miraculous sound of Joe's truck, up on the road. It must be him, he must be alive. Then Tess heard another engine, and a flashing blue light reflected on Angie's face. The police? "Stay away or I'll shoot her!" Angie yelled. A male voice told her to put down the gun. It sounded like Duane Prescott. "Oh please!" Tess breathed, sobbing and fighting not to lose her grip on the branch. "Please don't let me fall now." "Tess is down there, and I'll shoot her if you don't back off right now. Let me leave, and she lives. Tess, you'd better yell so they know you're there, because if they come any closer you're dead." Another car drove up, and stopped. "I'm here," Tess called in a desperately thin voice. "Tess!" Joe called back. "Where are you?" "Stay back!" Angie warned. "Let me see her, Angie," Joe called. "Please." "Over there, that's close enough. Move to the edge and you can see her," Angie motioned to him.
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A few seconds later Joe spoke, some ways behind Tess. "Hold on, Tess. Honey, hold on. It'll be okay." How could he say that? He sounded too calm. Tess nodded, wanting beyond all else to believe him. Angie still held the gun on her, and Tess's hands and arms ached, her bare fingers growing numb and slick. Her grip threatened to give out any second. She looked at Angie again. Then Tess heard a thwack and a surprised, gasping cry. Angie stumbled backward on her feet. Then Tess saw Angie's attention shift to something on the ground. She moved closer to the edge and bent to reach for it. The snow took her, giving way under her feet as it had under Tess. Angie toppled, screaming. She fell past Tess, and tumbled down the snowy slope, all the way to the bottom of the ravine. Tess cried out, terrified of the same fate. But she held on, believing again that she might well survive. She listened to Joe's vibrant, deep voice, warmed to the sound of it, and followed his and Duane's instructions while Duane lowered Joe down on a rope to get to her. When at last Joe lifted her onto firm ground, he held her there for one long, wondrous, grateful minute. "What happened to Angie?" Tess finally said, teeth chattering as she spoke, with reaction and cold. Distant sirens moved closer. "Rose." Joe shifted his gaze from Tess, nodding toward the side of the road, where Rose stood holding a crossbow. Rose peered down into the darkness where Angie had fallen. As Duane approached with a flashlight, Rose turned and handed the crossbow to him. "There was no way out for her," Rose told Duane as they moved closer to Tess. "She would've killed Tess once she realized that." Rose sounded calm. She looked serene. She reminded Tess of an angel. Two more sheriff's cars arrived, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Duane directed them to where Angie had fallen. The other officers, and the search and rescue team who joined them minutes later, prepared to climb down there and get Angie out of the gully. Rose came over to Tess and Joe. "Are you all right, Tess?" Now her voice quivered. She hugged them both, weeping. "How did you get here?" Tess asked Rose and Joe, while Joe took tight hold of Tess's left arm and held her close to him in a protective, clinging embrace that Tess didn't understand. It reminded her of Jessica Laine. "I was so worried about you, Joe! She hit you with the shovel." Tess tried to turn to face him, but he made her sit still. She wanted to hug him again, but he was more intent on gripping her arm.
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"She only stunned me," he said with a grin. "I'll live. I don't need a doctor. You on the other hand--" Tess turned to his sister. "Rose, how did you get here?" "I was feeling glum after Harry and Paige left. I dawdled around the house and tried to write, but I couldn't concentrate. So I drove down to see you and Joe . . . and the kittens. I saw a light on, but no one answered the door. I could hear Joe groaning inside, so I went around and got in the back door, where Ned broke the glass. I found Joe tied up in the foyer. I cut him loose, and he ran out to his truck. He told me to stay and call for help. I could hear the sirens by then. Duane must've already been on his way. I ran out to my car and followed Joe. When I drove up, and saw the cars here, I opened the window and heard Angie threatening to shoot you. Then--it was the strangest thing. I looked down, and there was this crossbow beside me, on my front passenger's seat. It was like--a gift. Angie didn't notice I was here. She was focused on Duane and Joe." Rose looked into Tess's eyes. "I wasn't about to let her take you away from us." Duane Prescott brought a blanket over. "I'll go to your house with you, Tess, to get statements from the three of you. That way you can all at least get warmed up." "How did you get here when you did, Duane?" Tess asked him, still amazed at the miracle of them all coming to her aid when they had. He shrugged. "I went to Stoneway looking for Angie. Kevin paged her, and I was right there beside Kevin in the office when Angie called and Kevin answered. He told her I was there, that I wanted to talk to her. She told him she was on her way. I could see the number she called from, on the phone's display. It was your number, Tess. She forgot about Caller ID." He held the blanket out to Joe, who motioned for Rose to take it. She wrapped it around Tess, covering only one shoulder, while Joe still clung to Tess's left arm. Duane's gaze shifted to Joe's hands, and he straightened. "We'd better get you to the hospital, Tess." He motioned them all toward his car. "No. No, I want to go home. I'm fine." "Tess, you're bleeding." Rose drew her attention to the gash on her left arm, where her jacket sleeve was soaked with blood, and she realized what Joe had been doing, putting pressure on it to control the bleeding. "That's not all," Joe said. "You got cut up by the brush when you fell. Let's get you taken care of." "I--" Tess stared at her arm. Angie must have cut her with the knife when Tess was grappling with her for the gun. She looked at Joe. "You can stitch it up, can't you, Joe? I don't want to go anywhere else tonight. Please." She wanted to collapse in his arms right now, and have a good cry. She started shaking, as reaction set in.
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"Joe, if you think she can wait that long, I'll call Peter," Duane offered. "He can meet us at his office. Heck, if I sweet talk him, he might come out here to take care of you, Tess. Peter used to work in an ER." He grinned and gestured at Joe. "This guy's a vet, you know, whatever he's told you. Come on. I have a first aid kit." Duane glanced down the ravine again as they moved toward his marked vehicle. The other officers were rigging ropes and a back board. "Do you think Angie's alive?" Rose asked. Duane shook his head. "I doubt it, after that descent. There are some deadly rocks and tree branches down there. We can't see where she landed yet. But there's a chance. The snow may have broken her fall. They'll get to her, and if she's alive she'll get medical care. Shooting her in the hand," Duane said, looking at Rose, "you took an awfully big chance of missing altogether with that thing." Rose shuddered visibly. "I did miss. I was aiming at her torso. I thought trying to shoot the gun out of her hand was too risky for Tess." Rose looked at Joe. "I've never used a crossbow before. I'm lucky I didn't shoot one of you." Joe looked at her in disbelief for several seconds. He looked about to laugh at her exploits, but didn't. "I should've told you when you first arrived that Angie had discouraged your parents from having you visit," Rose told Tess as they neared Duane's vehicle. "I made a promise to myself a long time ago, never to gossip. I--" She shook her head. "I didn't want to be like Angie. I thought she was only jealous of you, like your mother thought. I never dreamed Angie would resort to violence. She'd told your mother you kept in touch with her all these years--with Angie--and you didn't want to come home, because of your accident and the gossip. She told them you didn't tell them that because you didn't want to hurt them. I hoped you'd learn the truth from Cathy's journals, so I kept quiet." "So tell us, Rose, what were you so busy doing when Trent and Angie ransacked Tess's house the other day?" Joe asked her. "I'd like to hear that too," Duane said. He held the door for Tess, and Joe climbed into the back beside her. Once they were all in and he'd started the engine, Duane looked over at Rose. "Well?" "You were writing, weren't you, Rose?" Tess said, in a knowing tone. Rose looked back at her and nodded, smiling mildly. "I ran into the house to jot down a single thought. I got so caught up in the story I completely lost track of time." Joe frowned at her. "That's nuts, Rose." "No." Tess knew the experience of losing herself in the flow of her creative work. "That's art."
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Chapter 24 Angie didn't survive her fall. Hours later, when they'd all made their statements, Duane took off to file his reports. Tess's arm was stitched and bandaged, and everyone was satisfied that neither Tess nor Joe had suffered any further great damage. Tess drowsed in her own warm bed under the effect of a mild sedative. Paige and Rose were spending the remainder of the night in warm beds elsewhere in this house that Tess again called home. None of them wanted to be alone tonight. The kittens were sleeping with Rose. "She's decided she's not allergic after all." Joe got into bed beside Tess, and held her close. Her muscles had gradually warmed and relaxed over the past few hours. She still felt the effect of her fear and her struggle to hold onto life. The sedative didn't completely smooth the edges of a night like tonight. She knew she would dream, and she didn't look forward to those dreams, but she sank deliciously into the warmth of Joe's arms, glad to be safe with him. "What about the letters?" Tess said. "Do you think we'll ever find them?" "Oh." Joe reached over the side of the bed, and picked up a brass headed wooden cane. "You were up here getting doctored when Duane and I found this. After what you told us Angie said, about your dad falling out front that morning and leaving the cane there, I got to thinking about all the snow that had fallen since their accident. It's a wonder Angie didn't find the cane when she messed up your snow angels with the snowmobile. It was there, under the snow. Duane was kind enough to take a photo and the letters, as evidence, and leave the cane." Joe unscrewed the brass head of the cane, to reveal a slender, hollow compartment inside. "That's where the original letters were, rolled up, safe and dry. Sheriff has them now." "You knew that was where Dad would've put the letters?" "I suspected so. He loved this cane, and that feature was part of the reason he loved it. He used to joke that it made him feel like a secret agent." Tess had to digest this for a minute. "So the sheriff knows the whole story now?" "Including your family's portion of it. There are still bits and pieces they'll have to get from Trent and Ned, if they can get them to talk." A few minutes later Tess said, "Poor Kevin." Kevin hadn't been part of his sister's scheming, but he would suffer plenty as a result of it, including the death of his only close family. "Poor Kevin," Joe agreed.
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"Did I do that to Angie? Was I such a terrible friend that I made her feel so abandoned she became . . . what she became? That she hated enough to betray me and kill my family?" "There are two other friends of yours in this house tonight who would agree with me when I say absolutely not," Joe told her. His breath was warm, his voice a low, velvety sensation in her ear. "But I think we'll all wonder for a long time what we could've done for her." "There won't be any trouble for Rose over this, will there?" "We'll take care of Rose," he said, and kissed her cheek. She snuggled in closer to him. "Yes, we'll take care of Rose. Will you help me with something tomorrow, Joe?" "Name your kittens?" "Well, that too, but--" She hesitated. "It's silly." "What?" "There's all this new snow. We need to make fresh snow angels. After all, that's where the answers were. Under the snow angels." Tess drifted off to sleep, to the sound of his low chuckle. "Goodnight, Snow Angel." That was a woman's voice. Was it a dream? Her mother's smile, her warmth, her voice. A contentedness that washed everything in a new light. For the first time in many years, as Tess dreamed that night, she felt truly loved.
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The Billionaire's Proxy by Yvonne Lindsay Even billionaires need a break. Between his father’s death and trying to discover his step-brother’s next scheme to seize control of their company, Jonathan Windthorpe is looking for some peace at the famous Tautara Estate. But he isn’t going to get it. There’s no question that Robyn Mackenzie is a beautiful distraction. Jon knows all too well just how good she looks—and feels and tastes…. And just how good she is at breaking his heart. Whatever she wants, he isn’t going to give it to her. Robyn didn’t fly to the middle of nowhere to revisit the past. In fact, she came to Tautara to ensure her future. All that is standing in her way from achieving everything she’s always wanted is Jon and the billionaire’s proxy….
Chapter One Jonathan Windthorpe looked up as the blades of a helicopter whirled into the distance. Aerial sightseers, he hoped, and not hikers who might want to stop on their journey. He was enjoying the uncharacteristic solitude of his self-imposed sabbatical. In particular, he was for once able to enjoy not being constantly on edge and wondering what on earth Bradley was planning next. Not this time. No, this time he knew exactly what his avaricious step-brother was up to and he planned to stop it. Since Jon’s father’s death a couple of months ago, the competition between them had ramped up on so many levels it left Jon wondering whether the continued fight was worth it. At his lowest point he’d even considered whether it was past time for him to step aside and let Bradley assume full control of WindCorp Industries. But then he’d caught wind of Bradley’s latest scheme. Bradley’s divide and conquer tactics at the South Island plant had already seen the decimation of one small town, forcing the bulk of the working population to seek jobs further afield. Jon wasn’t prepared to see that happen again. Duty to his family’s firm and its employees sat firmly on his shoulders and in his heart. He wasn’t a quitter, not by any standard. The sun was bright in the early summer sky and a growl from the pit of his belly told him it was time to head back to the cabin and prepare some lunch. He packed up his gear and gathered it together with the trout he’d caught for his evening meal. But as he approached the cabin, a frisson of caution licked across the back of his neck. Movement on the front deck sent every muscle in his body into full alert. Movement he instantly identified as Robyn Mackenzie. No wonder his instincts had forewarned him. His body was intimately attuned to hers, a fact that had made the last six months working with her on the executive floor sheer torture. His eyes raked over her. She stood tall and slim at the railing. The pale pink top she wore offset her ivory complexion. She’d ruthlessly pulled her lush, golden brown hair in a ponytail, unwittingly exposing the smooth planes of her uncharacteristically pale face with its high cheekbones to perfection. If she’d arrived by chopper it was no wonder she was pale. She loathed flying. She was the last person he expected—or wanted—to see, though the lower half of his body called him a liar. As he got closer he met her cool, blue-eyed stare head on. “What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.
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Without waiting for her response, Jon stomped past her and pushed open the door to the cabin. But even as he did so, the enticing fragrance she wore wrapped around him with the familiarity of a lover’s caress and teased his senses. Every cell in his body clenched, determined not to fall prey to her proximity. Spicy. Sweet. Alluring. Just like her. Or at least just like the woman he’d thought she was. The first day he’d met his then-secretary, their attraction to one another had been instant. Their inevitable reaction, incendiary. But he hadn’t counted on her motivation for their affair, made painfully clear the instant Bradley had dangled a promise of promotion in front of her pretty little up-turned nose, and she’d thrown Jon over just like that. And he hadn’t appreciated being taken for a ride But despite the pain she’d inflicted, he couldn’t help but wonder…did she scorch Bradley’s sheets now too? Jon’s step-brother had a habit of working “intimately” with his female staff—something Jon himself had avoided until Robyn came along. And Bradley constantly dropped none-too-subtle hints that there was more than a purely professional relationship between them. On the other hand, perhaps Robyn was still holding out for that promotion, having learned from him that bedding the boss wouldn’t instantly further her career. The thought soured Jon’s mouth and carved an ache in his chest. He leaned his fishing rod against the side of the cabin and toed off his boots before going inside, leaving her to stand alone out on the deck. He’d be damned if he’d invite her in. It was churlish, he knew, but he gave the door a nudge with the back of his heel anyway so it would swing shut behind him. But the telltale “snick” of it closing never reached his ears. “Good fishing?” She’d followed him in all the way through to the kitchen. She’d always been tenacious. A trait he’d admired—initially. “Good enough.” Jon laid the fish on the shining stainless steel counter and turned to face her. “So, what are you doing here, and how soon can you leave?”
Chapter Two Twin spots of color lit her cheeks. Good, he’d gotten under her skin. A lick of satisfaction beat back some of the resentment he felt that she’d interrupted his holiday with work. And it had to be work. They’d long past being anything else. “What? Not even an offer of a cup of tea?” Robyn shot back. “I never knew you to be rude, Jon.” “I never picked you to be the kind of person who’d do anything for promotion, either.” Robyn stiffened her spine. She hadn’t exactly expected him to welcome her with open arms but outright hostility was uncharacteristic, even for him. “I never lied about my ambitions within WindCorp,” she said quietly. “No. Nor did you wait for our sheets to get cold before sidling up to Bradley.” He made a frustrated gesture with his hand. “Whatever, it’s in the past. I’ll ask you one last time. Why are you here?”
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Robyn chewed her lower lip a moment before deciding to cut straight to it. It was quite clear that Jonathan wasn’t in a mood to beat around the bush. She almost smiled at the pun, ironic considering the density of native growth surrounding the cabin. They were a far cry from his top-floor corner office in the city. “There’s a board meeting on Friday. We need your proxy.” “There was no notice of this meeting before I left the office last week.” Suspicion narrowed his steely gaze. “No, I know. But since the meeting has been called, and since you’re scheduled to be out of the office for the next three weeks, I’ve been sent to get your proxy.” Robyn fought to quell the quiver of apprehension that rippled through her. His step-brother had sent her to get the proxy one way or another. Her promotion depended on it. Would Jon suspect what Bradley was up to? “And just who will hold it?” “Your brother.” “My step-brother. And the answer is no.” Jon turned away from her and started to clean the fish. “Shouldn’t you be doing that outside?” He looked back over his shoulder, raising one brow. “You’re still here?” “Jon, don’t be ridiculous. Just sign the proxy and I’ll be on my way.” “And that’s all it’ll take to get rid of you?” “Yes.” “Show me the agenda for the meeting.” Robyn put her briefcase on the native-wood kitchen table and flipped the catches. She sorted through her papers and extracted the sheet he’d requested. “Here you are. I think you’ll find everything in order.” Jon rinsed his hands and dried them off before taking the proffered agenda. He skimmed the listed items. Yes, everything was in order. And that was the precisely the problem. He smelled a rat. A Bradley-sized rat. Clearly the other man couldn’t wait to strike. Jon hadn’t even been out of the office a week. “What about the ‘Matters Arising,’ any indicators there?” “Not to my knowledge.” Jon studied her frank, blue-eyed stare to see if she was hiding anything. It appeared as if she was telling the truth, but something still didn’t sit right. “Get them to reschedule the meeting for when I’m back. I see nothing here that’s so urgent it can’t wait until then.” Jon thrust the paper back in her hands and returned to filleting the trout. “Look, the meeting’s scheduled. All of the executives have been notified and have signaled their attendance. All you need to do is sign the proxy.” Robyn made one last push, fighting to keep her tone as conciliatory as possible. “Really, Jon. When did you become so paranoid?”
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“Oh, let me think about that.” Jon tapped his filleting knife against the fish. “Ah, yes. About when you expected me to sign over my voting power to a man we both know would do anything to nay-say what I believe in, no doubt for a decision affecting the company I run, without even knowing what he really has on his agenda. Go back to the office, Robyn, and tell your lover that you failed. I’m not signing anything.” “He’s not—” Robyn choked on the words. “Not what? Your lover?” Jon made a derisive sound. “You forget—I know how you work. Tell me, do you ever get tired of always having an eye to the main chance?”
Chapter Three Robyn bit back the words that crowded in her throat. She couldn’t refute Jon’s allegation, not without alienating him even further. And if that happened, he’d never sign the proxy that would assure her promotion. But no matter what Jon thought, Bradley was not, nor ever would be, her lover. She had absolutely no trouble controlling herself around him. Jon, however, was another story completely. From the first time they’d met she’d felt an unequivocal pull, a tingle of electricity connecting them both—a tingle she felt even now no matter how hard she fought to ignore it. Dressed in casual jeans and a well-washed T-shirt, his dark hair wind-tousled, he was a million miles away from the Queen Street sharp dresser she knew so well. Come to think of it, she’d only ever seen him in a suit—or naked. Her insides somersaulted at that thought and her mind flooded with images of him over her, under her— inside her. She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. Tried desperately to control the swell of need that surged through her. She’d allowed emotion to rule her head once and she’d paid the price. Sleeping with the head of WindCorp had done nothing for her career. It had only set her up for failure—and Mackenzies didn’t fail. Hadn’t she had that drummed into her often enough during her childhood? And even in adulthood. She remembered the look of disdainful disappointment on her parents' faces when they’d found out she was dating her boss…. You’ll never be anything more than a secretary now, Robyn. He’ll want to keep you right where you are, as his beck-and-call girl, and the other executives will think you’re a joke, if not worse. And they’d be right. She’d learned they were right—emotional need did not overcome necessity. And it was necessary in order to climb the corporate ladder. To be a success. To be someone if she was ever to garner her family’s respect. They’d quietly put down her ambitions for years, not understanding for a moment that she was cut from a different cloth to them. Both her parents were academics—highly regarded internationally in their fields. When she’d shown no such bent they’d quietly resigned themselves to what they’d seen as her mediocrity. But she was damn good at what she did and she knew she could do better, be better. Bradley had offered her the chance to be the person her parents could be proud of, and she’d grabbed at it with both hands. So she’d had to surrender to his condition that she break things off with Jon, as painful as it had been. This was her life, her future, her chance to be the very person she wanted to be. And that was finally in her grasp. Bradley had promised it to her—as long as she returned with the proxy. But as she stood with Jon’s back to her, she could see her promotion sliding from her future with the speed of light. Somehow she had to convince him to sign the proxy. But how? “What is it between you two that you find it so difficult to work together? You grew up together didn’t you? Can’t you just pick up the phone and sort this out with him?”
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Jon snorted. “Not in this lifetime. Besides, I’m here for a break.” The way he said the word “break” raised a flag of unexpected concern. She was suddenly struck by the tiredness around his deep-set gray eyes. He’d lost weight in the past couple of months—since his father’s death on the golf course from a massive heart attack. They said Jon himself had done CPR on his father until the ambulance crew had arrived. But it hadn’t been enough. Having fought so hard and then losing had to take a toll. That failure combined with the shock of losing a man everyone had thought invincible had obviously been difficult. Whatever their personal differences, there had been deep-seated mutual respect between father and son. Jon had to miss him. Without thinking she stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” The muscles in his arm bunched beneath her hand, the warmth of his skin and the crisp hair on his forearm making her fingertips prickle with awareness. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw his gray eyes darken, his pupils dilate….
Chapter Four Jon pulled away from the sizzling sensuality of her touch, cursing himself that she could still affect him like that. Hadn’t he learned his lesson with her the first time? You don’t mix business with pleasure. It was a sure-fire way to disaster. “Of course I’m okay. I’m on a long overdue holiday, and frankly, you’ve overstayed your welcome. I assume you’ve arranged transport back to Tautara?” “Well, actually, no. I haven’t. I thought we’d talk, you’d sign the proxy, and then I could call up the chopper again to come and get me.” Jon rolled his eyes. City girls. “And what did you expect you’d use? Your cell phone?” His short laugh lacked humor. “Look around you, Robyn. It may have escaped your attention, but we’re miles from anywhere. There’s no signal here. No reception. Tautara provides a satellite phone for use in extreme circumstances only. Still, given your loyalty to your job, it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it?” “And the proxy?” Robyn had to try one last time. “You’re a lot of things, Robyn. Beautiful, sexy, good with your hands…” He gave her a once-over that set her teeth on edge—yet still had the ability to send fire through her veins. “But I know you’re not stupid. Forget the proxy. I’m not signing it.” Robyn watched in silence as he poured a sesame and ginger dressing in a large shallow dish and added honey, soy sauce and garlic and deftly mixed it with lime juice and brown sugar. “I never thought of you as a gourmet cook,” she finally managed, as he added a dash of hickory barbeque sauce and some sweet chilli sauce before mixing the marinade and layering the fish fillets, skin side up, in the dish. “You never thought of me as anything but a fast track to a corner office, now, did you?” Jon’s voice was pitched low, but there was no mistaking the anger behind his words. “That’s not true! I—” Jon put up one hand to halt whatever she was going to say. “Please. Don’t insult me by trying to say you loved me. We both know that when Bradley offered you the position as his Executive Assistant you broke
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things off between us. Clearly I wasn’t going to give you what you wanted. Pity was, I thought what you wanted was me.” An all-too-familiar chill struck deep in Robyn’s heart. She couldn’t refute his accusations. Bradley had made the end of her affair with Jon a condition of her position, citing a conflict of interest between her role as his EA and her relationship with Jon. At the time she’d thought it was what she’d wanted. That she’d be able to walk away from their relationship—from his bed—and remain heart-whole and focused on business. In the male-oriented climate of WindCorp, she knew if she was going to get anywhere she’d have to play by their rules. Her parents had always played by the rules. She knew by their example what dedication and sacrifice could bring, and she was prepared to do it. She had loved Jon. Loved him and lost him—all for the sake of a promotion she still hadn’t received. But she’d get that damn promotion now, if only she could get past Jon’s stubbornness and have him sign the proxy. “I’ll call for your ride.” Jon put the dish he’d prepared in the refrigerator, cleverly hidden behind integrated Rimu wood-faced cabinetry. “Wait!” An alternative suddenly suggested itself to her. “What if you signed the proxy over to me?”
Chapter Five “You?” Incredulity colored his voice. “No. Besides, you don’t have the authority.” “I will have the authority with my promotion to Junior Director of Operations.” It was company policy to let junior directors have responsibility for proxies where practicable. Jon’s father had felt it important to give his junior executives a taste of the duty they’d be expected to perform if they reached upper management in the firm. “Jon, you can trust me to do what’s right.” “What your boss tells you to do, you mean.” “No, what’s right for WindCorp.” Which was in more jeopardy than Jon knew. But maybe, just maybe, she’d have a chance to head Bradley off, but only if she got the promotion—and if Jon would give her his proxy. If she was right about what Bradley had planned, she knew without a doubt that Jon would vote against his proposal. But she couldn’t divulge her concerns to Jon, not without breaching the confidentiality clause in her contract. So the only way to keep her job and save the company was to vote for him. She could do that for him. For the company. He fixed her with a flat stare and for a second she thought she had it within her grasp. “And if Bradley changes his mind about your promotion? I don’t think so, Robyn. No.” “Please, Jon.” Robyn waved the sheet of paper redundantly in the air, frustration making her want to stamp her feet. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. If she straight out told Jon her suspicions, she’d lose her job. But if he didn’t agree to sign the proxy over to her, everything he and WindCorp stood for were lost. She had to try one more time. “What can I do to convince you to sign this?” Jon stilled and faced her. Suddenly, his eyes were as cold and dark as an Antarctic winter. “To convince me?” His voice was as deadly as fine honed steel. “Is that what Bradley told you to do? Convince me? You forget, Robyn. I’ve tasted your charms, and yes, while they’re many and deliciously
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varied, they’re old hat now. Besides, I’ve made it a habit, since my father foisted Bradley into my life, not to take his leavings even if he’s quite happy to take mine.” Robyn gasped in shock. She’d heard a few insults in her time, but this really took the cake. Fury swelled within her until she could barely see straight. “Now just a minute,” she demanded, as Jon walked past her into the spacious and well appointed sitting room. “I resent your implication that I’d sleep with you to get the proxy signed. You know things have been precarious since your father’s death. With you now incommunicado as well, everyone’s getting restless.” “Are you quite finished?” Her words hadn’t so much as ruffled him. If anything the look of boredom on his face told her in no uncertain terms that she was pitching at windmills. Failure settled on her shoulders with the weight of a leaden cloak. “Yes.” More finished than he knew. But there was no point in trying to appeal to his philanthropic nature. He’d made his position patently clear. Robyn watched in frustration as Jon picked up the bulky sat phone from the sideboard lining the living room wall and made the call that would see to the end of her dreams for promotion and saving the company. She let the deep rumble of Jon’s voice wash over her, not paying any attention to his words—until the timbre changed. “What do you mean it’s a no-fly zone? You just dropped her off…. I see. Well, let me know the instant there’s any change.” Jon flung her a look laced with fury as he disconnected the call. “You’re stuck here.” He dropped down into the long sofa behind him and sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Why did you have to come today of all days?” he muttered, more to himself than to Robyn. “What do you mean, stuck?” Jon cracked a sardonic smile. Even knowing there was no humor behind it her heart skittered in her chest. She’d always been helpless in the face of his smile and the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Seems there’s a hush-hush visit to Tautara by some overseas president and his wife for their wedding anniversary. Turns out she read about the lodge in a magazine and arranged it as a surprise. Great timing, huh? For the duration of their stay, only aircraft engaged in the security detail are permitted to fly in the area. Orders from the Diplomatic Protection Service.” He rubbed his hand across his face again in a weary gesture. “It gets worse. The visit is expected to last two to three days.”
Chapter Six “Two to three days!” Robyn couldn’t hold back her alarm. “But that’s ridiculous. I can’t put my life on hold for that long. I need to be back at work tomorrow. Surely there’s some way…” “Look, I’m no happier about the situation than you are. But short of a miracle we’re stuck together.” He made it sound like he’d rather have all his teeth pulled. And Robyn had to agree. There was still too much unfinished business between them—too much animosity. And yet, here was another opportunity for her to get him to sign that wretched piece of paper.
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She thought briefly of the correspondence she’d seen flying across Bradley’s desk in the past couple of weeks. Of the figures he’d requested she pull up and the projections she’d reported on. She’d have to be blind and stupid not to have worked out what Bradley had planned. Jonathan would be vehemently opposed to it. She’d even brought several of the papers with her to study tonight while wrapped in the luxury that Tautara Estate boasted before setting off for her flight to the office early tomorrow. Whatever Bradley’s intentions, he was her boss and she had to remain within the boundaries set by her confidentiality clause. It wasn’t her place to question—not yet anyway—but to see to it that her work was carried out with the utmost efficiency. And yet, she still struggled with wanting to do what was best for WindCorp—without compromising herself or her role within the company. It was a damnably fine line to tread. If only she could get Jon to sign the proxy over to her. Bradley hadn’t been specific in his instructions that it was to be signed over to him, although his implication had been clear. But she could wing it as long as he thought the power had been assigned to him. He’d likely not even want to see it before the meeting. Then she could use the proxy to head off Bradley before he destroyed the company. But if she didn’t get Jon to sign the wretched paper, Bradley had made it clear she’d be without a job. If that happened she’d have to bear her parents’ disapproval once again. She was firmly stuck between a rock and a hard place, not to mention being stuck here now with Jon. The irony of her situation wasn’t lost on her. Robyn sighed and sat in the chair opposite Jon. “So what are we going to do?” Jon watched as she perched on the edge of the chair, tension visible in every line of her delectable body. The worn denim of her jeans stretched across her thighs like a second skin, the designer top clinging to the soft roundness of her breasts like a lover’s caress. Like his caress. He fisted his hands in an attempt to rid himself of the tingling in his fingers—of the long ago sensation of the silken texture of her skin. This was impossible. There was no way he could be in the close confines of the cabin and not be driven mad with the need to touch her, to coax murmurs of pleasure from the smooth column of her throat. To swallow her moans of delight as he stroked her, cupped her breasts and teased her nipples into tight buds of desire. He may be mad as hell at her for the way she’d ended their affair, but he still wanted her. Wanted, but wouldn’t have. “Do?” he replied. “Try and stay as far apart from one another as possible under the circumstances.” He got up and made for the front door, determined to increase the distance between them before he did something stupid. Like kiss her. His appetite for lunch had long since diminished, but his appetite for Robyn… That was something else entirely.
Chapter Seven From the front door, Jon gestured to the phone he’d left on the coffee table between them. “You’d better use that to call Bradley and let him know what’s happened. I’m going for a walk.” “Could I come with you?” “I’m putting up with you because I have no choice, Robyn. Don’t expect me to want to spend more time with you than I have to.”
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“Look, you’re not the only one who isn’t happy about this situation. If you’d left a general power of attorney before escaping to this…this wilderness, I wouldn’t have had to come hunting you for your proxy in the first place.” She was stunning when she was mad, he’d give her that. The flush of color in her face, the flare of challenge in her blue eyes—even her defensive posture—every bit of her was beautiful and dangerously appealing. Jon barked out a laugh. “This is hardly the wilderness. And my position on a general power of attorney and the proxy is clear. There’s no one I trust enough at WindCorp at present to represent my interest, so my interest remains with me.” And with that he walked out the door. An hour later Jon returned from his walk clearer in his head than when he’d left and full of new determination to get through the next few days as easily as possible. As he entered the cabin he listened for Robyn, but heard nothing but the blissful silence that had drawn him here in the first place. He cast his gaze around the room, his eyes settling on Robyn’s supine figure on the couch. Her lashes lay in dark crescents on pale cheeks and her lips parted slightly on each outward breath. Something hot and hard fisted in Jon’s gut as he drank in the sight of her laying there. Vulnerable. Open. He’d loved to watch her like this after they’d made love. When she’d collapsed into sleep in the aftermath of their passion. He’d trace the wings of her dark brows, follow the line of her long, straight nose and let his gaze rest upon her wide, full lips. Just as he was doing now. As if she sensed him, Robyn lifted a hand to swipe at her face then settled back into sleep. Jon spun on his heel and headed back outside. There must be another hill that needed climbing. If not, the next three days would be sheer hell.
*** Robyn’s eyes flew open as she was woken by the slam of a door. She bolted upright and scrubbed at her eyes, forcing them to focus on her surroundings. She checked her watch. Good grief, she’d been asleep for nearly four hours. Jonathan must be back, she realized. She pushed up from the couch and wandered through to the kitchen. Her briefcase, which she’d left on the table earlier, had been tucked away against the wall. A sudden panicked thought occurred to her: had she remembered to lock it when she’d put the proxy back inside? The documents that hinted at Bradley’s plan were in there. A swift check confirmed her case was secure and a small sigh of relief escaped her lips. Being here with Jon had rattled her so much she couldn’t even be certain she had followed security procedures properly. The scent of ginger and smoked hickory wafted through the open kitchen window. Should she go outside to where Jon was obviously barbequing the trout or stay in here and avoid confrontation for at least a few more minutes? Avoidance had never been her style. Robyn pushed open the back door of the cabin and stepped into a hard wall of male strength. Instantly she put her hands up in an attempt to regain her balance. Strong hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her. Strong hands that sent spears of electricity sizzling through her veins. Instead of pulling away, Robyn felt herself being drawn inexorably toward him. Toward the strong plane of his chest, against the hardness of his abdomen, within the cradle of his hips. She couldn’t help herself—she flexed her hips against him, felt the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Her breath hitched in her throat and she tilted her face up to his. His eyes darkened to the color of charcoal and
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narrowed. Tension spiraled through her body leaving licks of flame in its path. His mouth lowered toward hers.
Chapter Eight The touch of his lips was familiar yet foreign at the same time. It had been so long since she’d encountered this level of intimacy with Jon—and she’d missed it. Missed him. So very, very much. But he’d changed. There was an edge to him now she hadn’t felt before. As he claimed her lips, a shudder drove through her. A cry of longing tore from her throat, only to be absorbed by him as he plundered her mouth. Her hands fisted in the cotton of his T-shirt, holding him to her as if she never wanted to let him go. And she didn’t. She’d made the worst mistake of her life when she’d told him they were over. They were far from over. Jon’s hands lessened their iron grip on her upper arms and slid gently to her shoulders, cupping them. For a second he pulled her closer, his fingers burning through the thin silk of her top. Robyn pressed against him, aligning her body along his, absorbing his heat, his desire—answering it with her own. Tears burned behind her eyes. Could she begin to believe they had another chance? Jon wrenched his lips from hers. “No!” His growl was emphatic. Jon pushed her from him. His body instantly regretted his decision, but his mind told him he was right to break the web that had suddenly and so irrevocably bound them together again. The evidence of what he’d seen in her briefcase was irrefutable proof she worked hand in hand with his step-brother. Lust was one thing. Betrayal quite another. “Wha—” “What part of ‘no’ is so hard for you to understand, Robyn? Oh, I’ll give you points for the element of surprise. If you were trying to prove a point, you have well and truly proven it.” “A point? I don’t know what you’re trying to say. Jon, please, can’t we—” “No, we can’t.” He took a step back from her. “The point being that while I might desire you, I don’t want you.” She reeled back from him as if he’d slapped her. Deep inside of him something cracked and the shaft of pain that crossed her face mirrored his own. But within seconds it was as if he’d said nothing—her face was composed in its usual smooth serene lines. “Well, I suppose that’s putting it bluntly,” Robyn answered, but the betraying wobble in her voice belied the cool, collected exterior she projected. “Robyn—” “No, seriously. Don’t worry. I should have expected it. I’ve put us in an untenable position by coming here and invading your peace and quiet. Really, I should have just watched where I was going.” She bent to the kitchen table and smoothed an imaginary speck of dust from its surface. Jon watched— biting down so hard his jaw ached. His pulse still drummed a crazy beat in his veins. He muttered a
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vehement curse and went outside to retrieve the fish from the barbeque hot plate before it turned to charcoal. His hand shook as he scooped the fillets into a dish and for a moment he stood there, willing his body back under control. Clearly six months separation had done nothing to ease the rampant need he had for the touch and the taste of Robyn Mackenzie. The one woman, above all others, he shouldn’t love.
Chapter Nine They completed their meal in silence. He barely tasted the delicate flavor of the trout or the crisp fruit flavors of the Pinot Gris he poured to have with their food. Instead his senses were still clouded with the feel of Robyn in his arms, of the taste of her on his tongue. He could have sworn her passion was genuine, that it hadn’t been some trumped up scheme to woo him into signing that blasted proxy. But she’d so swiftly become aloof straight afterwards, even while he’d struggled to bring himself back under control, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was comparing him to Bradley—and the thought stung far deeper than he wanted to admit. The mere notion that his step-brother had kissed her the way he’d kissed her. Had touched the welcoming curves of her body, tasted her sweetness, given her pleasure. It was enough to drive a man crazy. His instincts, his very pride, demanded he stamp out any memory of his step-brother from her mind and her body. To leave the imprint of the pleasure he and he alone could bring her. But Jon hadn’t reached his place in the world by being driven by physical need. He reminded himself of what he’d seen in Robyn’s briefcase when he’d shifted it from the kitchen table and it had flung open, sending papers cascading to the floor. Reminded himself of the damning figures neatly detailed in her handwritten notes that confirmed his suspicions about why his step-brother had called this special meeting in his absence. Of the confirmation of Robyn’s duplicity in the whole deal. Oh yes, he could resist her all right.
*** When they’d completed dinner, Robyn offered to clean up and Jon disappeared into the master bedroom. The sat phone was missing from the coffee table where she’d left it yesterday, and from the quiet rumble of his voice behind the bedroom door she assumed he was busy making some calls. Who to and what for she didn’t know, but something niggled at the back of her mind. He’d said the phone was primarily for use in emergency situations and he’d been adamant about his privacy here. So who had he found it so important to talk to this evening, and why? She spent the rest of the evening checking the contents of the well-stocked bookcase in an alcove off the sitting room. But even though she found several of her favorite authors’ latest releases, she couldn’t settle to anything. Her own company had never bothered her before, but here, in such close proximity with the man who had the ability to send her blood pressure soaring sky high with little more than a look, she found it difficult to keep her mind occupied. The sound of the bedroom door opening had her whirling around. “I’m turning in early,” Jon said. “I thought you might want to use the bathroom before I hit the sheets.” Instantly a vision of his naked form tangled in bed linen strafed her memory. She blinked hard to clear the image from her thoughts. “Thank you,” she finally managed.
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“I’ve left a T-shirt on the vanity for you to sleep in.” As opposed to sleeping naked? She wondered if that was for her benefit, or his. “Thanks, that’ll be great. Do you mind if I rinse a couple of things out so I can be fresh tomorrow?” “Whatever you need.” He was so damned polite and frozen it was like talking to an android. If she hadn’t been left so shaken by their earlier encounter she’d almost be tempted to try and rattle him again. Anything, even his anger, was better than this courteous stranger.
Chapter Ten Robyn took her time in the bathroom, rinsing out her bra and panties and spreading them on the top rail of the shower stall. Jon had even put out a toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste for her. No doubt all part of the accoutrements provided by Tautara Estate, but she appreciated the gesture. She completed her ablutions and smoothed the oversized T-shirt over the tops of her thighs as she went back through to the sitting room. He’d been busy here, too. He’d covered the couch with a crisp, clean white sheet and a light throw rug. A pillow lay against the armrest. “All done?” He turned from the window where he’d been gazing out into the darkening night. “Yeah, thanks.” “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” No doubt bright and early, if the unfashionably early hour they were going to bed was any indication. What a change from a few months ago when an early night would have meant anything but sleep. Robyn lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket over her. The couch had been so comfortable earlier, but now it was as if she’d made her bed on a sack of coal, and she tossed and turned. She couldn’t be mad that Jon hadn’t offered her his bed, but it rankled somewhat that he hadn’t. The expanse of the super-king-sized mattress that she’d glimpsed at in the master bedroom of the cabin on her way to use the bathroom had screamed comfort and luxury. A far cry from a light blanket wrapped around her here on the couch. She touched her fingertips to her lips, reliving the kiss they’d shared earlier. The kiss that had reignited the constant craving she’d thought she’d finally managed to get under control. She dragged her fingers down her throat, across her chest in an attempt to ease the yearning inside, but it was Jon’s touch she ached for. The night stretched out before her, long and lonely.
*** As if his sleepless night hadn’t been bad enough, Jon stared at the reminder that Robyn wore no underwear. The flimsy white pieces of lace and sheer fabric hung above the shower stall with all the subtlety of a matador’s cape to a bull. He snatched them down and tossed them on top of a laundry hamper. He certainly didn’t need their provocation while having his shower this morning. Just the thought of Robyn asleep on the couch in the next room was quite enough. The morning sun was already warming the cabin and Jon kept the shower setting cool as he stepped under the spray. It would need to be cool anyway after the dreams that had tortured him and ensured he’d spent more of the night awake than in slumber.
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Two more days at most, he consoled himself. Two more days to endure her under his roof—tormenting him with her unique scent and the graceful curves of her body. Driving him crazy with the memory of that kiss they’d shared last night. He bent his head and let the water pound the back of his neck and his shoulders. What on earth had driven him to kiss her like that? Sure, she’d walked into him. Big deal. People bumped into one another all the time. But it had been a big deal. No sooner had her hands flown to his chest than his heart had begun a crazy tattoo and his pulse had leapt up several beats. Heat had flooded his body, heat and an insidious longing to take what was on offer. For a split second he’d forgotten where her loyalties lay and he’d succumbed to the need to assuage a hunger that had simmered beneath the surface of the civilized veneer he presented to the rest of the world. She’d tasted divine. And he wanted more.
Chapter Eleven Jon cursed long and low as he snapped the shower off and grabbed a thick fluffy towel from the rail. He briskly rubbed himself dry then draped the towel around his hips and grabbed his shaving gear. “You’re a bloody fool,” he told his reflection in the mirror, but the clear gray-eyed stare that met his gaze told him he was so much more than that. That he was still attracted to Robyn was undeniable. What he was going to do about it, well, that was something else entirely. He couldn’t act on it, although it would be the ultimate twist in the link between Robyn and Bradley. Perhaps even the ultimate revenge on them both. A hollow ache started in his chest. He wasn’t about revenge. Not now. Sure, justice would come—but all in good time. Right now his priority was WindCorp. The papers in Robyn’s briefcase last night had confirmed his suspicions about his dear step-brother’s secret agenda and justified his decision to plant a spy in Bradley’s department. The call he’d made to his informant last night had merely backed everything up. His decision to “hide” away had been spot on. It had flushed the rats right out the drain pipe. And one of them was sleeping on his couch. A gentle knock made Jon whip around. He drew in a hiss of pain as a sharp sting of steel bit into his jaw. He yanked open the door then grabbed a tissue to stem the trickle of blood from where he’d nicked himself. “What?” he growled as Robyn stepped inside. Robyn tried to avert her eyes as she stepped into the bathroom but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the broad expanse of his chest, or from the tiny droplet of moisture that trickled down his ridged abdomen and toward the edge of his towel. “I…I, um…” she finally managed to tear her eyes from him and spied her underwear on top of the hamper. “I need these.” She snatched the wisps of fabric into her fist and turned to leave. “I’m done in here. You can shower if you want.” Jon’s voice was flat, emotionless. A far cry from the man who’d kissed her senseless last night. His cold stare made her all too aware of the fact that she wore his T-shirt and nothing else. Beneath the soft cotton she felt her nipples tauten and peak. The stain of mortification burned her cheeks as his gaze
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dropped enough to let her know her reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed. She saw the instant his eyes darkened, a certain sign he wasn’t as immune to her as he’d steeled himself to be. She waited for the sense of satisfaction that should come from knowing she could still affect him like this but instead only felt the pull of her womb as her insides wound tight on the sudden swell of desire that rode through her body. She hated being hostage to her body’s weakness. And it was weakness as far as Jon was concerned. He’d made his position perfectly clear last night and she’d sweep streets before she’d beg for his attention again. The instant he left the bathroom, Robyn closed the door firmly and leaned her flushed cheek against the cool wood of the door. A ragged breath shuddered through her chest. She couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to the city—away from the constant reminder of what she could have had if only she hadn’t been so driven. In the dark hours of the night she’d had plenty of time to think about her choice to terminate her relationship with Jon as well as to consider the promotion she’d hinged all her hopes for the future on. A niggle of doubt had begun to creep in. What if Bradley didn’t offer her the junior executive position he’d promised? Would she then have thrown everything away for nothing? Suddenly it seemed all the more urgent that she get back to the office. Here she had too much time to think—to worry. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face the truth about her feelings for Jonathan Windthorpe. If she did that, something told her she wouldn’t like what she saw.
Chapter Twelve She must have been up before dawn, Jon decided as he entered the kitchen. She’d cleared away all evidence of her bed in the sitting room, and by the aroma coming from the compact wall oven, she’d already grilled bacon and made scrambled eggs for breakfast. His favorite. Something warm and familiar flooded his veins, something he’d ruthlessly quashed when she’d broken off their relationship to take up her role as Bradley’s right hand. What was she up to? Playing house? Trying to recapture the closeness they’d once shared—perhaps even with a view to rekindling the love he’d thought she’d reciprocated? Instantly he eschewed the idea, as much as he wished it could be true. If he knew Robyn at all anymore, it was more likely that she was trying to soften him up to get him to sign that blasted proxy. He smiled, a wry curl of his lips totally lacking in humor. Well, she could try. He poured himself a coffee and leaned back against the kitchen counter, sipping the fragrant brew. A glance outside showed the weather had deteriorated. A leftover of spring’s inclement chill caught in the air and a steady drizzle had begun to fall. Well, it wouldn’t matter to him what the weather did, he’d be in his waders enjoying the river. Robyn could amuse herself for the day—no doubt by working through those papers in her case. Jon grimaced. The coffee suddenly soured on his tongue. He could have borne her ambition had it not been so heavily laced with disloyalty at the same time. A movement at the door made him look up. Robyn stood there, looking uneasy. Guilty conscience perhaps? She must have taken the shortest shower on record, he thought. His coffee hadn’t even begun to cool in his cup. Her hair, usually straightened and sleek, had begun to curl in a cloud around her face, making her appear softer, more vulnerable. As if he could give in to impulse—forget the chasm of suspicion that yawned between them, and simply step forward, tangle his fingers in those soft brown curls and drag her to him before slanting his lips against hers to plunder her unadorned mouth. Something of his thoughts must have reflected on his face because he heard the skip in her breathing as she made eye contact with him and he saw the sudden widening of her eyes and the faint flush of color that spread across her cheeks.
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Jon slammed the shutters down on his wayward thoughts. He needed to stay in control, especially if he was going to expose Bradley and his crooked assistant for exactly what they were. “You haven’t started breakfast,” Robyn commented unsteadily as she moved to the oven, sliding out the dishes that had been warming and placing them onto the table. “I thought I’d wait for you seeing as how you’d gone to so much bother.” “It was no bother.” Robyn dished up a generous portion of bacon and egg onto his plate and slid a dish with buttered toast on it toward him. “Toast?” “Thanks.” The civility with which they had breakfast stood in stark contrast to the dinner they’d shared the night before. As with last night, Robyn got up straight after eating to clear the table. “So,” Jon leaned back in his chair, determined to provoke something from her that wasn’t this guarded form of homemaking. “Are you this domesticated with Bradley?” “What? No. Of course not.” Indignation painted a flush of pink across her cheeks and throat. “He does the cooking then? Strange, he never struck me as much of a chef.” “No, he doesn’t. And I don’t. I told you. Bradley and I aren’t that way together. I’m his Executive Assistant. That’s all.” Did she protest too much? Jon wondered. He wished he could savor the hot flare of satisfaction that bloomed inside him at her denial of a relationship with Bradley. But how could he believe her when his ears had been poisoned by Bradley’s insinuations—by the not-so-veiled hints at how much he enjoyed “working” with Robyn? “You were my secretary before that, though, weren’t you? And yet you were so much more.”
Chapter Thirteen “Don’t, please,” she begged. “Don’t sully what we had together. It’s not like that between Bradley and I. Why won’t you believe me?” Robyn argued back, her heart heavy. Was Jon’s opinion of her really so low? “Believe you? I want to believe you. But can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t do just about anything to get that promotion you’re so determined on getting in Bradley’s department?” “I—” Robyn hesitated. Jon pressed on. “You can’t tell me that this entire trip is based on your loyalty to my dear step-brother. I know how terrified you are of flying and I also know it would take a heck of a lot to get you to do what you did yesterday. How can you expect me to believe there’s no more to your visit than dedication to your job?” “But I am dedicated to my job and to WindCorp. Jon, give me your proxy. Let me prove to you I can do what’s best for the company,” she implored. “How can I trust you not to side with him?” “Did our relationship mean nothing to you? You can trust me.” “Did it mean nothing to me? You left me for a job!”
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“You never asked me to stay.” Her voice dipped so low he could barely hear her. “What’s happened to you Jon? I never thought that what happened with me and Bradley could turn you into someone so angry and bitter.” Tears filled her eyes and emotion choked her throat. “Bitter? I’m not bitter—not anymore. But I don’t appreciate being taken for a fool. Tell me, Robyn. Does your heart race when Bradley stands this close to you?” Jon moved so quickly he took her completely by surprise. He loomed over her, the heat of his body radiating out to consume and ignite her. “And when he does this,” he reached out and traced one finger over the curve of her breast. “Does he set a fire in your blood?” Robyn felt her nipple tighten into an almost painful bud of desire. Need flooded her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Need—and something else. Something not as physical. Something that begged for Jon to want this attraction between them to be more than just another way to get back at his brother. She desperately gathered her thoughts. She couldn’t allow him to confuse her—to fog her mind with wanting him. He stroked his nail across the hardened nub that pressed against the thin fabric of her top and she gasped at the pleasure-pain of the jolt of sensation that speared through her at his touch. Jon bent his face to hers, his lips bare millimeters from Robyn’s. “And do you cry his name out when you come? Or are you thinking of me?” Slap! Robyn took a step back and nursed her stinging palm. God, she’d slapped him. She’d never slapped anyone in her life before. But she’d never been this angry before, nor this frustrated. “How dare you!” Robyn finally managed through lips that could barely move. “I’m not standing for this. Not anymore. I’ve tried to be civil—I’ve tried to be professional. But you keep dragging up the past. Let it go, Jon, or one day you’re going to wake up a very lonely and cynical old man. I’m out of here. You can drive yourself crazy all you like with your stupid allusions on your own.” She spun on her heel and stumbled through to the sitting room and quickly pulled on the hiking boots she’d worn yesterday. Damn him for getting to her like that. “Robyn! Stop. Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to Tautara, where else?” She tied the laces and marched to the front door. “I’m sure as hell not staying here with you.” “Look, I’m sorry. I overstepped the mark. You had every right to put me in my place.” “Yes, I did. But your apology means nothing to me, Jon. Just like I clearly mean nothing to you anymore. I came here to help you, dammit! But you’re too stubborn and too bitter to need anybody, aren’t you?” Her voice broke on her words, their finality punctuated by the solid slam of the front door closing behind her.
Chapter Fourteen And just like that she was gone. It was what he’d wanted all along, he tried to tell himself. But he knew he lied.
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Jon rubbed his cheek. Man, she packed a wallop. And he’d deserved it. He’d goaded her mercilessly and he’d had no excuse other than pathetic jealousy. The thought of his step-brother touching Robyn the way Jon had, tasting her—it had driven him temporarily insane. A slither of shame slid uncomfortably down his spine. He owed her an apology. A big one. And he had to go after her. What if she strayed off the track, or worse, hurt herself? No one would know. He checked around the immediate perimeter of the cabin and there was no trace of Robyn. He’d hoped to find her sitting on the edge of the front porch steps, waiting for him to be reasonable. But that wasn’t Robyn’s style. She was way more self-sufficient than that, and she was mad enough to walk all the way back to Tautara as she’d said. Niggling concern for her condition made him edgy. She wasn’t dressed for the trek back to the main part of the estate and it had turned chilly. Sure the trails were marked, but without food and water or even a rain jacket, she’d be struggling before too long. She had a thirty minute head start on him but he knew he could shorten her lead. His decision made, he stuffed a small backpack with energy bars and a couple of water bottles. He hitched on the pack and hit the ground off the front deck at a run. Hopefully he’d catch up to her before she got too far and maybe she wouldn’t still be so angry with him. And if she was, well, he’d duck this time. The drizzle had intensified to a steady rain and the track was slippery in places. Jon cursed as he slid for the third time. He’d seriously believed he’d have caught up to her by now but she’d been in such a rage it must have propelled her along the trail at a faster rate than he’d given her credit for. In the distance he could hear the roar of the river. The crossing wasn’t overly deep, but it could be tricky for anyone who was attempting it for the first time, let alone doing it on their own. Concern for Robyn’s safety spurred him along the pathway and he broke through to the clearing just as she reached the middle of the river. Water foamed and bubbled up to her thighs and he watched with his heart in his mouth as she wavered slightly before regaining her balance. “Robyn! Stay where you are. I’ll come across to you and lead you to the other side.” “I don’t need you!” she yelled over her shoulder, looking back at him as she took another step forward. And that step was her undoing. Before his horrified gaze she slipped on an unstable rock and pitched into the chilled mountain water. He saw her hit the water with a frightened cry. It wasn’t deep and the current wasn’t too strong here. She should be able to make it to her feet without any difficulty. Unless she’d hit her head. Jon unhitched his pack and threw it to the ground, suddenly desperate to reach her.
Chapter Fifteen The sheer cold shock of the water knocked the breath out of Robyn’s chest as she foundered on the hard uneven surface of the river bed. How the water could still be so freezing cold defied belief. She struggled to keep her head above water while she tried to gain a foothold, anything to get some purchase on the slippery rocks and get upright again. Strong hands suddenly hooked under her arms and lifted her clear, holding her steady as her feet found some stability in the raging water.
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A shiver rocked through her. Strange, the rain actually felt warmer than the river coursing around her legs, and Jon’s hands were even warmer. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the cabin. You can’t go on like this.” She wanted to argue with him, to tell him where he could stick his cabin, but the lure of a hot shower spoke volumes to her frozen skin and chattering teeth. “Okay,” she managed begrudgingly. They completed the journey back to the cabin at a surprisingly quick pace. She wasn’t sure if it was Jon’s intention to keep her moving to warm her up, or whether he was simply eager to get out of the weather. It was depressing to realize how little distance she’d actually traveled in her attempt to strike out for Tautara on her own. At the rate she’d been going, even if she’d made it safely across the water, she’d have been lucky to get to the lodge by evening. She was so lost in her thoughts, she never noticed the broken branch across the path until her foot caught in it, pitching headlong toward Jon’s back. He spun around even as she cried out and arrested her fall, pulling her hard against his body. She relished the sensation of warmth and comfort as his broad hand spread across her back. “You okay?” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll be okay. I’m too tired to look where I’m going—and now I’ve made you all wet.” “It’s okay. We can both warm up in the hot tub when we get back. It’ll do us the world of good.” He took her by the hand and to her shame she clutched onto him like a grateful child. “Hot tub?” Robyn didn’t remember seeing a tub in the bathroom. While the fittings had been undeniably luxurious they hadn’t extended to a tub. “Yeah, through the French doors from the bedroom. C’mon, we’re only about five minutes away.” It was the longest five minutes of her life. The constant drum of the rain through the dense foliage, the slipperiness of the path and the tiredness that assailed her all conspired to make her feet drag and her head swim. By the time the cabin came into view it was all she could do to ascend the steps to the deck. “Here, you look shattered.” Jon hooked an arm around her waist and led her around to the side of the cabin. He propped her against the wall. “Stay there while I take the cover off.” Robyn knew she should move, do something—anything—to get the soaking wet clothing away from her body and to remove the boots that had begun to chafe during their trek back, but everything was too much effort. Get a grip on yourself, she silently chastised, and forced herself to bend down to attempt to undo her laces. Her fingers were stiff and uncooperative. Long strong fingers gently brushed her hands away and Jon eased the stubborn laces loose on her boots and slid the wet leather from her feet. Her socks and jeans were swift to follow, then her top. The silk would never be the same again, she realized with a woeful thought as he peeled the fabric from her upper torso. Without pausing he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the tub, gently settling her in the water. She drew in a sharp breath as the heated water stung her skin, then closed her eyes and relaxed her head back against the cushioned headrest on the side of the tub. A swish in the water made her look up.
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A new kind of heat drew suddenly from her inner depths to bloom across her skin. Jon stood before her in the water. Like her, he’d stripped off his wet clothes, but unlike her, he’d removed his underwear. Which left him totally naked.
Chapter Sixteen Jon settled onto the bench seat and welcomed the heated water as it lapped over his skin. Every instinct in his body demanded he draw Robyn into his arms, to comfort her, to warm her. She’d scared the living daylights out of him when she’d fallen into the river, and her lethargy as they’d neared the cabin was even more frightening. That fall had made him face facts. He still loved her. Deeply. And he needed to find out if she still felt the same way about him. “You never asked me to stay.” Her words echoed in his mind. Had the long-standing rivalry between him and his step-brother clouded his reason? Could he have fought for Robyn? The answer to both was an unrelenting “yes.” He’d allowed his family bitterness to stand in the way of reason. He had to separate what he felt for Robyn from the business But first he had some groveling to do. “I’m sorry I provoked you before. I didn’t mean to drive you away,” he said. “I overreacted. It was stupid to rush off like that so unprepared.” “You took ten years off my life when you fell in the river. How are you feeling?” “A bit sore,” she answered, tipping her head back again and closing her eyes. “My feet and calves in particular. Next time I go hiking I’ll make sure I train first.” A small smile tugged at his lips at her attempt at humor. “Here,” he said, reaching for one of her feet under the water and pulling it to sit on the top of his thigh, “let me massage your feet for you. It’ll hurt at first, but you’ll feel better in the long run.” Jon began a deep rhythmic stroke along the underside of her foot, massaging up to her ankles and then back down again to the tips of her toes before starting over again. “God, that feels good.” Robyn groaned a deep-throated sound that hit him straight in the solar plexus and made him instantly hard. Through the water he could see the dusky pink tips of her nipples straining against the sheer fabric of her flesh-colored bra and he recognized the stain of color that gently spread up her chest and to her throat as the mark of desire. Despite their differences, she still wanted him. Probably about as much as he wanted her. A glimmer of hope glowed to life deep in his chest. Jon stroked higher up her leg, working into Robyn’s calf muscles. Her foot flexed in his lap, brushing against the evidence of his desire. Her eyes flew open. Instead of shock he could only see the answering echo of his need for her. He pressed his hard flesh against the softness of her instep and saw her pupils dilate even further, her lips part on a breath. He reached for her other foot, still maintaining eye contact, and mirrored the attention he’d paid to the aching muscles of her other leg.
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“I meant it when I said I’m sorry,” Jon said softly. “To be honest, the past six months have been hell.” “For me, too. I’ve missed you.” Jon stopped massaging her leg and reached forward to pull her into his arms, hope swelling into anticipation when she made no protest. She settled astride his lap—her shielded core only centimeters from his arousal. He lifted a hand and smoothed her damp hair from her face. “Show me,” he whispered, “show me how much.” “Like this?” she breathed softly into his ear before licking at his lobe then trailed a series of tiny bites down the column of his neck. “Yes,” he groaned as he nuzzled the hollow between her neck and her shoulder, forcing himself to hold back the tide of need that threatened to swamp them both. She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, sending it sailing through the air to land ignominiously on the deck then slid off him long enough to slip off the scrap of fabric that was her panties. Naked, she shimmied back onto his lap. Jon gripped her hips to position her at the tip of his shaft. His ears filled with the addictive sigh of satisfaction that eased from her throat as he slowly lowered her onto his length. He settled deep inside of her, relishing the sensation of her clamping against him, feeling a sense of rightness in his world that had been missing for six long months. Robyn sighed as her lower body began to undulate as if she no longer had the strength of will to control herself. “Oh, Jon, I’ve missed you so very much.”
Chapter Seventeen And she had missed him—in more ways than merely the physical. Knowing he’d suspected her and Bradley of being lovers had been a painful blow. There’d only ever been one Windthorpe man for her and it had always been Jonathan—no matter what he thought. Letting him go had been one of the toughest decisions of her life. But she could no more pull away from him at this moment than she could stop breathing. His hands held her hips firmly, halting her movement. Determined not to ease up she squeezed her inner muscles against him, urging him to do what they both needed to ease the conflagration building inside. She tilted her pelvis ever so slightly so her sensitive nub rubbed against his pubic bone. Instantly a spiral of pleasure sent spasms through her body, making her clench him with an intimacy that only lovers shared. It was his tipping point. He instantly let go of her hips and allowed her body the movement she desperately craved—allowed her the pleasure she knew belonged to them both. His broad hands slid up to her rib cage, his thumbs caressing the sensitive underside of her breasts then scraping up and over her nipples in tandem, teasing the taut points into an ache that went soul deep.
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She increased momentum, desperate now to find release—desperate to draw from him the culmination of the longing she’d suppressed for far too long. Her climax hit her hard and fast and her voice rang out as pleasure soared within her. Jon’s body stiffened beneath hers and she felt his hips thrust against her as he scaled the peak with her. She collapsed against him, letting her body melt into his. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, or was it his? Even the ragged breaths they drew were synchronized. Eventually Jon stirred beneath her. “C’mon. Let’s take this inside. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Robyn lifted herself off his body on legs that barely seemed capable of supporting her. Jon swung his legs over the side of the tub and, as he had before, scooped her into his arms. She didn’t feel cold anymore, and even the constant rain outside the sheltered deck could not diminish the light that shone within her now. Jon pushed open the French doors leading to the bedroom and laid her almost reverently on the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning from the bathroom with two large fluffy towels, proceeding to dry her with one. Not to be outdone, Robyn grabbed the other towel and dried him as he hovered over her body, one hand stroking the coiled strength of his shoulders and his upper arms, while the other dragged the towel across the parts of him she could reach. He grabbed the towel from her hands and hooked it loosely around her wrists, stretching her arms up over her head—leaving her prone to his look, his touch, his mouth. He settled his body between her legs and when he lowered his mouth to her breasts Robyn knew it didn’t matter where she was anymore. As long as she was with Jonathan, she’d come home.
Chapter Eighteen Dawn crept across the now clear sky, but Jon was oblivious to its beauty. In his arms was a woman he silently acknowledged he irrevocably loved. Yet, he had loved her before and that hadn’t been enough for her. Had any of that changed? The papers in her briefcase still bore mute testimony to her duplicity. As much as he wanted to keep his relationship with Robyn separate from the machinations of the company, could he trust her? The test would be in what she decided to do. She said she’d come here to help him. So now, would she choose Bradley, or him? It was full light by the time Robyn stirred. His body leapt to life as she stretched languorously beside him but instead of urging her to full wakefulness he pushed himself out of bed before he succumbed to her charms again. It was hopeless. He wanted her as much now as he’d wanted her the many times they’d made love during the night. He could not allow himself to be drugged by his addiction to her again. Before he could reveal his true feelings to her, he had to know exactly where she stood. In his life or out of it. He drove his body away from hers, toward the bathroom, toward the sobering cold spray of the shower. Toward reason.
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As he came out of the bathroom he heard the sat phone ring. By the time he disconnected the call he couldn’t decide if it was precisely the news he needed, or if it was an unwelcome coercion to carve the truth from Robyn. Eventually, he forced himself back to the bedroom. She lay in the tumble of sheets that were still redolent with the scent of their lovemaking. Each crease was a silent witness to their hunger for one another. Each fold was a testament to the passion that demanded acknowledgement. Jon took a moment to steel himself for what was to come. Took a moment to savor, however fleetingly, what they’d shared. He leaned forward to lightly touch her shoulder. Her skin was like satin—he would never grow tired of the texture or the exquisite sensation that touching her brought him. A piece of him wanted to forget all about the phone call, to sink back into the bed and into the welcoming warmth of her body. But he knew he couldn’t ignore the call or the damning information she’d inadvertently brought to him. It was time for them both to face the truth. She turned into his touch, a soft sigh and a smile on lips he wanted to plunder and take for his very own. “Robyn,” he pulled away from her touch, “Luc Tanner just called. The presidential visit has come to an early end. They flew out about an hour ago.” “They’ve gone?” The cloudiness of slumber was rapidly replaced by her sharp analytical mind. “So the airways are open again?” He watched Robyn carefully—saw the play of emotion across her features. It was time to push for his answer. To push for the truth he dared believe might be his for the taking. “You don’t have to leave. Stay here with me.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Jon, I can’t. You know I have to get back to work.” So, there he had it. The truth. The absolute, irrefutable proof their lovemaking had meant nothing to her. He meant nothing to her. Pain warred with the anger that flared inside him as fast and furious as petrol on a bonfire. “To work? To Bradley, you mean.” He took a couple of steps back, anything to give him the distance he needed. Robyn remained silent in the bed. The bed in which he’d bared his heart and soul to her. The bed in which they’d shared such intimacies that would forever go unspoken. She hadn’t even given staying with him a thought, Jon acknowledged with a hollow pain in the region of his heart as he gathered a belt, a pair of jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt and threw them on the bed. “Here, your clothes will still be soaked. Use these and get dressed. The chopper will be at the landing site in forty-five minutes.”
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“Jon—” Robyn reached for him. “Don’t.” He spun away from the seduction of her touch. “You made your choice. I only hope you can sleep with it.”
Chapter Nineteen Robyn stood outside the meeting room waiting for the executives to filter in. It had been two long and lonely days since she’d returned from Tautara. She’d felt numb from the moment she’d left Jon’s cabin, even more so when she’d opened her briefcase on her return to Auckland and found the proxy on the top of the papers she’d stored in there. Signed over to her. It made her sick to realize that Jon had obviously read the information in her case, and yet he’d still given her the proxy. She had to admit that the documents made her look as if she was complicit in Bradley’s scheme. And yet Jon had still given her the ultimate gift in trust. Trust she’d thrown back in his face when she’d chosen to leave. Pain carved a sharp line through her body. But she couldn’t have stayed. Staying would have meant she’d be giving up her promotion, giving up the chance to make something of her life. She had dinner planned with her parents tonight to celebrate. Already she felt as if she’d earned the right to bask in their pride. But what about Jon? She thought back to his request to stay with him at Tautara. It was a test. A test she’d failed. Six months ago, a promotion was what she thought she’d wanted and she’d been so blinded by ambition she hadn’t grasped the one thing she wanted above all else. Jon. But she could try to make it up to him. She could ensure that Bradley’s plans would not come to fruition. She already had a strong idea of which way the voting would sway, and Jon’s proxy would be the decider. WindCorp had always prided itself on being focused on providing “for New Zealanders, by New Zealanders.” Bradley’s discussions with several overseas parties regarding outsourcing all of their manufacturing showed his clear intention to cease operations in New Zealand. The loss of jobs would be massive. And without manufacturing, Jon would have very little input left in the company. But with her promotion she could stop all of that. Robyn ticked the last attendee off her checklist and followed him into the meeting room. The meeting was called to order and progressed through the agenda at an efficient rate. “Next on the agenda is the matter of Robyn Mackenzie’s promotion.” Her ears buzzed as her credentials were lauded, as her undeniable loyalty to WindCorp was expounded. She continued nervously taking the minutes, as one by one the board voted and…she had it! They’d voted to give her the promotion! Finally she had the right to ensure that WindCorp could continue with the charter Jonathan’s father had always seen for the company. Tension gripped her as the chairman asked for any matters arising. This was it. Bradley took the floor. She had to admit, he was convincing. As he showed charts and projected budgets for the company she could see some of the executive slowly swing in his favor. When
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the vote was called she was shocked to see just how convincing he’d been. The final deciding vote now rested with the proxy trembling in her hand. Bradley looked at her with a smile. “Any proxies?” “There’s one. On behalf of Jonathan Windthorpe—” Robyn paused and took a steadying breath. “—signed over to me. And I vote against,” she enunciated as firmly as she could. The complacent smile on Bradley’s face froze and twisted until his expression turned positively feral. Robyn ducked her head and stared fixedly at the table. A sudden commotion at the door made her life her gaze. Jon! He was here! Her heart skittered in her chest as Jon’s painfully familiar figure entered the room. With Jon’s presence the proxy was null and void. He voted for himself and unequivocally quashed Bradley’s push to move manufacturing offshore. Bradley’s face contorted in anger, but he remained silent for the rest of the meeting. Robyn went back to her office and sorted through the mail on her desk. She was relieved that while hope for their love had been irretrievably stomped into submission by her actions, hope for WindCorp still thrived. Movement at the door to her office caught her attention and her heart stopped. Had Jon come to talk to her? The flutter of hope slammed to a halt. It was Bradley. He wasted no time in getting to the point, his voice laced with vitriol. “I hope your foray into the bush with Jonathan was worth it, because that’s about as close as you’ll ever get to management in WindCorp again. You can forget about your promotion. It’s clear you breeched the terms of your employment. Why else would Jon have turned up today? You’re fired. I want you to clear your desk and be out of here by the end of the day.”
Chapter Twenty She’d always known Bradley could be vicious but firing her was going too far. “But I didn’t tell Jon about your plans for WindCorp,” she protested. “So you deny he found out the information from you?” Robyn’s throat closed on her words of denial. Of course Jon had found out from her—or at least from the notes in her briefcase. While she hadn’t told him in so many words, she was still responsible for him finding out. And she was glad. Suddenly the promotion she’d have given anything for meant nothing to her anymore. Not if it meant she had to do the kinds of things Bradley wanted for WindCorp. Not if it meant destroying the lives of hundreds of employees and their families, not to mention the livelihoods of the towns in which they lived. She drew herself up to her full height and met him eye to eye. “I don’t deny he found out from me. It wasn’t deliberate but I’m prepared to take responsibility for my actions. Given the same opportunity I would do it again. And don’t worry about trying to fire me. I quit. I wouldn’t work for you anymore for all the money in the world.”
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Slow steady applause arrested them both. Her heart lurched at the sight of Jon’s sartorial elegance framed in her doorway. “Well said, Robyn. But I believe my dear step-brother has it wrong. It’s you who’ll be leaving, Bradley, not Robyn. Your underhanded action in bringing today’s meeting to order is in direct breach of your conditions of employment. The executives have called for your resignation.” *** Jon closed the door to Robyn’s office firmly behind Bradley’s retreating back. He wouldn’t give up without a fight and Jon had no doubt there’d be a massive legal battle around the corner, but right now he didn’t care. All that mattered was the woman who stood before him. The woman who’d proved her loyalty to him, and to WindCorp, by voting his proxy today. “We need to talk,” he said, crossing over to her desk. “I’m sorry you had to go through that today, but it was necessary to be able to show the board just how underhanded he could be. I’d never have had their agreement to remove his powers if it hadn’t played out the way it did.” He dragged at the tie at his neck and flicked open the top button of his shirt. “You knew about it all along?” “For the past four months, yes.” “You used me.” “I used a person I thought was using me. I was blind as far as you were concerned. Blind and stupid. I thought you would vote with Bradley. I misjudged you terribly and I’m sorry for that too,” he said softly. “Tell me, if you could still have that promotion, would you take it?” She didn’t even need to think about it. “No.” “I understand,” he sighed, “but there’s a massive hole in that department now and it needs a committed leader to shape its future. I know, with guidance, you can be that person.” He could see she was tempted. “I’ll give it consideration,” she eventually murmured. “And what about me. If things were different would you still want me, would you still give us another chance?” “What do you mean?” He saw her eyes lighten and shine, heard the lift in her voice. “Please, Robyn, forgive me today—forgive me the past six months—and I promise you that every tomorrow will be better.” “Forgive you, Jon? I’m just so glad that you can forgive me. I should have stayed with you at Tautara. It was wrong of me to put my ambitions ahead of my heart. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”
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Jon stepped around the desk and pulled her into his arms. It felt so very right. And when he spoke, she knew she’d made the right choice. “Robyn, the past week has proven to me how much I love you. How much it would destroy me to live without you. Will you marry me? Will you stand by me and help me run WindCorp to be the best of what we both want?” “Is that what you truly want?” She hardly dared hope. “Yes.” In that single word he gave her the answer her heart craved. The answer she needed to turn her back on the expectations of her family and embrace the one truth she held most dear. She loved Jonathan Windthorpe and he loved her in return. “Then, yes, I’ll marry you. I love you Jon—I’ll love you forever.”
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Thirty Days by Lilian Darcy What happens when three waitresses in a coastal Australian town try to find love - or avoid it - during a month-long military training exercise involving Australian and American services? Courtney declares the training exercise to be her ticket out of town, and is determined to find a husband. Jen isn’t interested, and is cynical about the whole thing. And Alice isn’t looking for marriage, either - though Jen believes that if anyone deserves a brief, bittersweet and passionate romantic fling with a visiting officer, it’s Alice. Three women...three stories... You’ll be surprised at what can happen in thirty days!
Chapter 1: “The place is filling up fast, and at least half are in uniform,” Courtney reported to Jen and Alice, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “I knew the new army base would have to pay off soon. This is my ticket out of here!” “If you want to leave Tidewater Bay, there’s a bus to Brisbane twice a day,” Jen told her, not totally teasing. If she ever left Tidewater herself, she intended to earn her own ticket, not rely on someone else. “No, I’m serious.” Courtney was all fired up. “Look at them. Americans, Australians, air force, marines. The newspaper says they’re here on joint training exercises for a month, and since this is the best bar and grill in town, right on the waterfront, that means they’ll be coming in here for a month, which means...” She left her sentence trailing. Then she grinned, hiked up her bra, pulled her tight little top down and fluffed her fingers in her blond hair. Jen and Alice looked at each other and smiled. Courtney described herself as “slightly slutty, but in a good way,” and it was a pretty accurate assessment. “You watch me! I’m going to be married to a hunky, high-ranking military officer in a month, and I’m going to leave this town!” You couldn’t dislike her, even when she came up with crazy ideas like this one. She disappeared to take an order, while Jen and Alice each began to load trays of drinks. The bar staff already looked pumped. Everyone could see it would be a busy night. Jen took a covert look at Alice. Would she handle it? As usual, Alice looked content but a little tired around the eyes, and she’d already put in a full day. Alice’s twins, Jen’s much loved niece and nephew, were fifteen years old, and Jen’s older brother Bruce, the fiancé Alice had never been able to marry, required a huge amount of care. “You’re the one who needs to be swept off her feet in thirty days by a hunky American officer, Alice,” Jen told her. “Me?” Alice looked startled. “What, I don’t already have enough to do?” “You don’t have enough...” Jen searched for the right word. Fun? Excitement? “You just don’t have enough.” Alice shrugged, as if in apology. “A few people might not agree with you on that, Jen.” “No, it’s true. What do you have that’s for you?” How many women would have done what Alice had, Jen wondered. Sixteen years ago, Alice had been just two months pregnant and her long-planned wedding to Bruce less than six weeks away when he’d had the motorcycle accident. He was still in a wheelchair, couldn’t speak or take care of himself. He smiled a lot. He watched TV, and the ocean. That was about it. And Alice had never turned her back on him.
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Now she was watching the men. Thoughtfully. Appreciatively. Because there was a lot to appreciate. They were tall and lean, or stocky and muscular, dark-haired and brown-eyed, or blue-eyed and fair. Their uniforms were laden with insignia. An aura of energy and strength and purpose filled the big waterfront bar, along with voices speaking in different accents, and bursts of male and female laughter. Alice looked at Jen and lifted one eyebrow. “You think so?” “I do! Alice, I seriously do! You’ve given so much of your life to my brother. You’re only thirty-six years old. None of us would blame you if you left - “ “No. Honestly, Jen. I don’t want a ticket out of here, the way Courtney does. You, on the other hand...” “Me? Oh, please! Courtney’s crazy if she thinks she can get one of them to marry her in a month. Take her to bed in two hours, sure, I’d bet on it. But I am not looking to be any man’s one-night stand!” “Famous last words, Jen,” Courtney sang as she skimmed back to the bar. “It looks like a nice town,” Colonel Kieran Hayes said politely to the junior Australian officer. He’d been assigned to orientate him in advance of the month-long joint military exercise on the coast of Queensland. Kieran had to raise his voice to get heard over the climbing noise levels in the bar. On his own, he would have chosen to eat outside on that sweeping deck poised almost on top of the ocean, but the Australian had led the way to this corner table and Kieran hadn’t wanted to pull rank so soon in the relationship. “Yeah, well, don’t let first impressions fool you,” Lieutenant Judd Mason replied. “Apart from the beach, there’ll be nothing to do. We’ll do our best for you, but this is the only decent place in town, and - a word to the wise - if you want Chinese food, do not go to Happy’s. Your guts will not be happy the next day.” He grinned. Kieran had already pegged him as cocky, lazy and not as smart as he thought he was. “You’ve been here before, Judd?” “No, but coming from Sydney, I can tell you these Aussie hick-towns are all the same.” Kieran asked Lieutenant Mason a few more questions because he never considered any information to be wasted, even when he didn’t fully trust its source. Mason answered with half an eye on every female that passed, including their waitress with her perky breasts and perky announcement, “Hi, my name’s Courtney.” Actually, in Courtney’s case, more than half an eye, Kieran revised. There was a definite flash of mutual and shameless interest between the two. Oh, great, he thought, my supposed right-hand man is going to be thinking below his belt whenever I most need him. Why couldn’t we have gotten the waitress at the next table? She was at least ten years older, a long-haired brunette, with a mature beauty that wouldn’t appeal to someone like Judd. Since Courtney and Judd were still flirting over the menu choices, Kieran idly listened to Ms. Brunette instead of Ms. Perky. She said her name was Alice, then outlined the day’s specials in a voice so musical and hypnotic that she could have gotten Kieran to order last week’s leftovers if she’d tried.
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But he wasn’t Judd. He wasn’t in the market for a one-night stand. Before their divorce, Dana had accused him of serial sleeping around, but despite all the time he and Dana had spent apart, he’d never been unfaithful to her. He just wasn’t that kind of man. If Dana had had any real competition, it came from his career. She’d realized this in the end. She just wasn’t military wife material. She had their two kids back in their Pennsylvania home town now, and he saw almost as much of them as he had when their family had still been intact. So why did he miss them so much now? Why did he feel so unready to consider that he might one day marry again? Lord, he didn’t want to think about any of this right now! After gushing over the specials, Courtney was ready to take his order. Quickly, please, said her body language, so she could get on with her work, finish her shift and get physical with Judd on the nightdarkened beach on her way home. “I’ll just have the plain steak,” he said, the words coming out blunter than he’d meant them to. He caught a quick smile in his direction from gray-eyed Alice, who was still waiting for a decision from her table but seemed quite interested in what was going on at this one. So we can’t sell you on our fancied-up specials and over-sauced seafood? the smile seemed to say. “You’re a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy?” she asked with a tease in her voice. He smiled back. “Yep, that about sums me up.” And for the first time since the divorce, he didn’t feel as if he had to apologize for it or try to be anything else. “I’m here to meet someone. Is it okay if I take a look?” Yet another American officer, Jen registered. The uniform and the accent left little doubt. She’d never seen the place this packed, not even during the annual surf carnival. “Well...I’ll get you a crowbar,” she said to him, “but we may hit closing time before you’ve worked your way into the room.” For about five seconds he looked blankly back at her and she thought, uh-oh, no sense of humor, I’ve created an international incident, but then his universal translator kicked in or something, and he laughed. He had a nice laugh. Real. “Maybe you can call a fire drill,” he suggested, “and I can look for him as people pour out.” “That’s a better plan,” she agreed, noting that he had nice eyes, too. Dark ones, in a coffee-cream face. Eyes that met hers for a second and gave her a weird feeling of recognition. “It’s why I have the most stuff on my chest,” he said, pointing to his left breast pocket. Well, he didn’t have the most, but he had quite a bit. Jen didn’t know what any of it signified, and she wasn’t about to be easily impressed. Humor always scored more points in her book. Without requiring the crowbar, he made powerful inroads through the press of uniforms and laughter and heat, and she lost sight of him almost at once. “Is this a zoo, or what?” said Courtney ten minutes later.
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“Courtney, tell me you’re not speaking with an American accent!” Jen answered. Courtney shrugged. “It’s so easy to pick up. Hey, did you see the cute guy - not American, by the way!” “I can see twenty-seven cute guys. Which one? And I thought cute would have to equal American for you tonight.” Courtney shrugged again. “Chemistry’s unpredictable. What can you do? But he’s from Sydney.” “So that still fits with the escape-from-Tidewater plan?” “I’m playing it cool. I’m not seeing him until Sunday.” Jen let out a laugh. “Two days? That’s playing it cool?” “Hey, I only have thirty days. It’s a tricky equation. I think two days is pitching it right. No, don’t bother looking for him; he’s still at the table with that older guy. You can’t see him from here.” “I wasn’t - “ Jen began, then stopped. I wasn’t looking for him; I was looking for Fire Drill Guy. But Courtney wasn’t listening, so Jen didn’t need to find a new way to finish her sentence. She didn’t need to look for Fire Drill Guy, either, but for some reason she kept doing it. Not even consciously. Just in the back of her mind, while her aching legs waited for the long night’s shift to end. *
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Courtney’s legs ached, too, all the way home in the car. Turning into her parents driveway - yes, she still lived at home, another good reason to get out of Tidewater, even though her parents were pretty nice - she was amazed to see light spreading down the adjacent driveway as her neighbor’s garage door opened. She had time to get out of the car and walk halfway toward the mailbox before Connor Gallagher’s car hummed past her in reverse. “Hello, Night Owl,” he said, stopping the vehicle and leaning his elbow on the window frame. “Night Owl, yourself,” she retorted, grinning. She’d known him all her life, and had almost gone out with him when she was nineteen. But in her heart she’d known she could do better for herself, so she’d given him some pretty strong we’re-just-friends signals and he’d never gone as far as asking. Since then, his parents had moved to Brisbane, and he’d bought the house from them to help finance their retirement. He was that kind of guy. Way too decent to be interesting. “What are you doing out this late?” she asked him. “It’s after two.” “I’m not out late, I’m up early. Dawn fishing charter.” “Ugh, horrible!” “Fishing?” “Dawn! Three hours before dawn, in fact. Very, very ugh. Didn’t you prefer the bank?” Connor had started a charter boat company with his older brother eighteen months ago, and they both worked incredibly hard now, building up the business. She barely saw him anymore. He’d been employed as
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a bank teller before, but the Tidewater Bay branch of the Queensland Regional Bank had closed. Courtney was sorry about the change. She’d enjoyed teasing Connor about embezzling other people’s funds. “No, I did not prefer the bank, Courtney,” he growled at her, and gunned the car out into the street. Apparently, he didn’t think she was funny. His problem. Or maybe the influence of his terrible girlfriend, who maintained a permanent negative balance in her sense of humor account. Courtney was a bit shocked, though. He’d never spoken that sharply to her before. “Connor Gallagher,” she told the departing vehicle, “you are really getting to be a jerk.” “You guys - and gals - enjoying yourselves in Tidewater, so far?” Jen asked the older American officer seated by himself out on the deck. His name sat above his left breast in small, discreet letters. She’d started looking at their names. Colonel Hayes, in this case. It was a gorgeous Sunday morning, just after seven and not yet too hot, and apparently he was working a breakfast shift just as she was. He’d already been standing at the restaurant’s main door when she’d opened it a few minutes ago, and now he was ready to order. “It’s a very nice town,” he told her. “But I won’t be seeing it for a few days after this. We’ll be in the field.” He took a breath and pointed to an item on the menu, but before he could speak Alice hurried up to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” she mouthed to Jen, because the deck was supposed to be her area this morning, while Jen should have been inside where she already had tables waiting. “It’s okay,” Jen mouthed back. She knew Bruce had had a bad night. Alice and Bruce lived with their twins a couple of streets away from Jen and her family, but Alice often spent the night at her parents’ house when they had Bruce. The extended family had a fluid arrangement for his care, depending on everyone’s commitments. He had two homes, really. That way, everyone helped and everyone got a break. “I’ll take your order, sir,” Alice said, and got out her order pad and pen. Jen headed for the table inside that had just filled up with a party of six - military officers, naturally, and there were some more, coming through the door. Fire Drill Guy was one of them. The other night? The crowbar? He won’t even remember... He did, though. “Hey,” he said a little later, when she appeared at his table. “You did a better job of clearing out the place this morning. I can even hear the ocean.”
Chapter 2: “It’s louder outside on the deck.” Oops, did that sound rude? As if she was trying to get rid of him?
Jen held her breath, then relaxed when he smiled. His smile was just like his laugh. Real. “Yeah, I think so sad to say, these guys like the softer chairs in here - but I got in a three-mile run on the sand, so I’ve had some air.”
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“I ran, too,” Jen blurted out, as if this made them long-lost cousins. “I didn’t see you.” “I saw you. Well, I know now that it was you. White T-shirt? Black bike shorts?” “That was me.” One of Fire Drill Guy’s buddies dug him in the ribs. “Quit talking and order, Jonah. We don’t have long today.” Jonah. Jen took a look at the rest of his name. Longman. Lieutenant Colonel. Information she didn’t need and could forget right now, she told herself. The place was already beginning to fill, and all the talk was about needing to eat and get out of here, because playtime was over. They were heading into the bush today. Meals would be eaten on the run. The soldiers probably wouldn’t get back for two weeks, and even the senior officers would have limited free time in town. Glancing out to the deck, she saw that Alice was still talking to her guy, Hayes. Alice laughed and threaded some silky hair behind her ear. The officer seemed to appreciate her body language, and if he was in a hurry to eat like the others, it didn’t show. Alice looked flustered at the kitchen serving hatch a few minutes later - flustered like Jen felt every time she caught sight of Fire Drill Guy...Jonah. She didn’t need to call him Fire Drill Guy anymore, but she’d been thinking of him that way a little too much since Friday night, so the habit was hard to drop. “He kept me talking,” Alice said, sounding breathless. “Yeah, I saw. What did he say?” Alice flushed. “You won’t believe this, Jen. He asked me out. Lord, I’d forgotten how that felt! So weird and unlikely and out of the blue!” Jen gulped back a shriek. “Alice!” “I-I’m feeling...“ “You should go! I don’t know what you said, how you turned him down, but go back out there this minute and tell him you changed your mind!” “Changed my mind?” “Yes!” “Do I have to, Jen?” Alice spread her hands in a gesture that was almost an apology. She gave an upsidedown smile. “I already said yes.” “And Alice told him yes,” Jen said to Courtney, during the Monday breakfast shift. “And they’re going out Wednesday night.” “Oh, wow!” Then Courtney frowned. “But I thought they’d all gone off into the bush, out of civilian contact. Judd said he wouldn’t be able to see me for days.” She sighed. “And what about your brother?”
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Jen felt the wave of sadness they’d all grown accustomed to over the years, as she answered. “Bruce won’t know. He barely would, even if Alice kissed another man right in front of him. He doesn’t have that awareness. Which is why she so needs something like this, if it works out for her.” “She’d go off with this guy?” “Oh, Courtney, no, I’m not thinking that way. All I’m hoping is that she’ll have a nice evening out, with a guy who can talk to her and appreciate her and give her something, the way my brother did once but won’t ever again. As for the civilian contact thing, I think Colonel Hayes is pretty high up. He’s overseeing, not taking part. He’ll have more flexibility than most of them.” “I wish Judd did...although I have to say in certain areas he’s very flexible.” “So last night, you and he...?” “No. We did not. I have my feet on the ground about this, Jen. There’s a huge chemistry, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. We’re still in the exploration phase, and I think deep down he knows that.” Deep down? Deep in the heart of a man you’ve known for two and a half days? Jen resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at the ceiling as she took her order away. She liked Courtney. Was fond of her, even, like a younger cousin. But she didn’t have a lot of faith in Courtney’s judgment right now. Fall seriously in love in a month? The girl had some growing up to do. *
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”Oh, grow up, Courtney!” Connor Gallagher said, over the back fence at six o’clock on Monday evening. Courtney had seen him from her kitchen window. Last week, she probably wouldn’t have gone out to say hi, but today she wanted to heal that little sense of discomfort generated by his shortness with her on Friday night, so she’d taken advantage of the sun-dried laundry that needed to come off the line. Unfortunately, the healing didn’t happen because the shortness was still there. She flushed at his words. “I was joking, Con.” Another bank joke, which he was obviously sick of. Okay, so she’d have to come up with boat joke material, instead. For some reason that seemed harder. Could she really be bothered? Was their old friendship remotely important to her, other than as a mild ego stroke? She’d always assumed she could crook her little finger and he’d come running, but if she was wrong about that, did it matter? She labored on, still confused about everything. “And I’m twenty-four. If you think I’m still a kid, well...well...” Well, it hurt, actually, she discovered. Clearly, the friendship wasn’t important to him, and he wouldn’t come running anymore. Okay, okay. She’d never intended to crook the finger anyhow. She asked brightly, “So what does Simone think about the boat business, eighteen months on?” Simone was Connor’s awful girlfriend, but he got an odd look on his face when Courtney mentioned her name. “We broke up,” he said blankly. “Four months ago.” “Oh, Connor, I’m sorry...” Not sorry about Simone, because she was critical and demanding and Courtney didn’t know why Connor had put up with her, but...had he gotten hurt?
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“Don’t be,” he said, eyeing her from behind a screen of lashes. The western sun was in his face. “It was my idea, and she’s moved on, now. Your mother didn’t tell you?” “No, she didn’t.” And because she still had this weird, hurt feeling about his prickly, distant attitude, she added, “Might surprise you, Con, but you’re actually not my main topic of conversation.” “Guess not,” he said. He turned away from her, and she hated that he’d refused to rise to her bait. Say something, Connor. Better to fight with you than to be ignored. There was a cold water outdoor shower rigged against the back wall of his garage for when he came back salty from a day on the water and wanted to rinse off. With his back to her, Connor peeled off his shirt, turned on a full flow of water and stepped under it. His dark, baggy shorts were soon soaked and heavy, making them dip low on his hips. He rubbed his body hard, and its curves and angles got caught by the late light. When had he gotten so tanned and muscled? On the boats, Courtney realized. Definitely not at the bank. She opened her mouth to tease him about it in their old, easy way, but then remembered how he hadn’t laughed on Friday night and held her tongue. “Well, hell,” Fire Drill Guy - Jonah - said to Jen, surveying the near-empty expanse of the Tidewater Bar and Grill. He’d introduced himself to her properly on Monday, so she really didn’t need to call him Fire Drill Guy anymore, even though she was kind of fond of it as a nickname. “Will you look at this! I brought the crowbar and I don’t even need it.” He flourished a blunt piece of blue-gray metal in his strong, long-fingered hand, and Jen looked at it and laughed. It really was a crowbar! And she recognized a price sticker still on it from the local hardware store. “You’ll go a long way for a joke, won’t you?” she said. “I didn’t do it for the joke.” Those dark eyes tried to connect with hers, but she wouldn’t let them. She wasn’t Courtney. “You did it because you thought we’d be as busy as last Friday night?” she asked. Her lungs felt tight and her head dizzy. “No, Jen.” He used her name as if he’d known it for years. Showing him to a table by the window, she had a sudden feeling of panic, forgot that she didn’t want to look at him properly and let her gaze shoot to his face as he sat down. “When do you finish?” he asked, dropping his voice. Oh, lord, I can’t pretend this isn’t happening, can I? But I don’t trust it... “Um, soon as the manager says I can go,” she told him. The place was very quiet tonight. It was a Wednesday, and some locals were probably staying away because of the military, whereas most of the military were now crashing around in the bush on their exercise. Lieutenant-Colonel Longman was still staying at the base, he told her, because he was part of the assessment team.
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“But I have to go straight home,” she blurted out. “I can’t - “ “How come? You’re on a curfew? You’re fifteen?” “Twenty-eight. I have to take care of my brother.” “Who’s four.” “Thirty-six.” She told him about Bruce and Alice, said more than she’d meant to and frowned when she said Alice’s name. Jonah noticed and asked what was wrong. “Oh, she’s supposed to be going out tonight, with one of your guys. She’s never done anything like that before; it could be so good for her if they have a nice evening, but I kind of...not pushed her into it...but if it turns sour on her...” Again, she said more than she meant to. “Who’s the guy?” “Brigadier Flight-Lieutenant Admiral Something-or-Other.” She had no idea about military ranks. “Hayes,” she remembered. “Hayes. I know Hayes. He’s a colonel. He’s a nice guy; he won’t turn sour. So that means it’s your turn with your brother?” Jen explained that this was what made it possible for him to stay out of a nursing home -- that they all shared the load, herself, her two sisters, her parents, Alice and the twins. “So we can talk at your place,” he said. He hadn’t even looked at his open menu yet. “Listen, I’m not married...” “Did I ask?” “Are you?” “Married? No. But I work; I have the family thing I just told you about, I’m doing a marine biology degree, part-time.” I’m really not looking for this, whatever it is. Why is my heart beating so hard? Why do I feel as if I’ve inhaled seventeen beers? “Marine biology? So do you dive? Scuba?” “Yes, but I never have time for that!” She threw up her hands, and suddenly it was funny. “You do that speed-dating thing at home, right? You must! Because this is - “ She stopped and shook her head, then noticed that the manager was waving at her from behind the bar. “You can go, Jen,” he called. “It’s not going to pick up tonight.” Lieutenant-Colonel Longman folded his unneeded menu and stood up, crowbar still in his hand. “We’ll talk at your place,” he said. “Someone told me the food was terrible here,” Kieran said. “But it’s been great.” “At Happy’s, you have to know what to order.”
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“Well, you steered me in the right direction.” He sat back in his chair and smiled at Alice, and for the first time that evening, she felt lost and unsure. What happens next? Was it just dinner? What’s he expecting? What do I want? She’d suggested Happy’s because she was pretty sure they wouldn’t meet too many of the wrong people here. The place was too small and quiet for tourists or the visiting service personnel. Most of its business was take-out, and the four eat-in tables were tucked away behind folded Chinese screens, out of sight of Tidewater locals collecting their bags of steaming food. Alice didn’t want anyone to see her here with an American officer and gossip about it. Not everyone was like Jen. Some people would consider it a betrayal to Bruce if she spent time with this man, even though she and Bruce could have no real relationship at all. She’d told him about Bruce, and he’d told her about Dana, and they’d found a connection in such outwardly different experiences. “Strange,” he’d said. “It makes you feel so incomplete, Alice, doesn’t it? And yet you’re scared about looking to make yourself complete too soon, or in the wrong way.” “I know, yes, that’s right,” she’d answered him. “I like talking to you,” Kieran said now, as he signaled for the bill. It was a simple compliment from a straightforward guy. “I like talking to you, too.” And I like looking at you. It’s so long since I’ve let myself look at a man. He had blue eyes, and the hard-packed build and no-nonsense haircut of a career soldier. In the shorn dark strands, there was a sprinkling of silver. He’d told her he was forty-five, and as well as the gray, he had the lines around his eyes and mouth to prove it. Alice loved the lines, because they spoke to her of a full, richly lived life. Joys and sorrows. Hard work and well-earned pleasure. The whole gamut of ordinary and extraordinary experience. She appreciated all of that so much. “Would you like to go for a walk along the beach before I take you back?” she asked him. His eyes sparked. “That would be nice.” Nice... He tended to keep things understated, she’d already discovered, and she liked this about him, also. Often, there was more to a man when less showed on the surface. Earlier she’d picked him up from the Australian army base where he was staying, a short distance out of town. Now they drove in the opposite direction to a sheltered and secluded curve of beach she used to take the twins to all the time when they were small. The pale sand was rolled hard and smooth by the rhythmic slip of the waves, and the moon reflected off the water to give a blue-white light that they could easily see by. He held her hand. Talked about his kids. Asked if she was cold.
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“I’m fine,” she answered, and only realized the missed opportunity too late.
Chapter 3: He would have put his arm around my shoulders if I’d said yes... Her heart started beating faster as he eased his hand out of her grip, quickened his pace and bent to pick up a shell. The shell was just an excuse, she knew. Darn it, I’m not going to let him think I don’t want this! Her whole body began to quake but she ignored it, caught up to him and ran her hand down his bare, strong arm. She took in a breath. Lord, her voice was going to shake, too, she knew it! But I’m not going to let that stop me... “Would you kiss me, Kieran?” she said. “He kisses like a dream,” Courtney said on Friday afternoon. “And he’s called me every chance he’s had they have all these satellite hookups out there, or something - I’m telling you it was phone sex, almost, although I don’t think he was supposed to be using a military line so much for personal stuff...and I’m seeing him when he comes back into town tonight. I can’t believe I’ve only known him for a week.” “Where will you go?” Jen asked, thinking of Tidewater Bay’s limited options. “Not here, after you’ve worked a full day shift.” The three women were to get off at 6:00 p.m. “Happy’s? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Fish and chips on the beach. And beer.” “That sounds nice,” Alice said. Fish and chips on the beach. Racecourse Beach. No one goes there at night. Jen took a covert look at her not-quite-sister-in-law. She’d had a glow about her since going out with Kieran Hayes on Wednesday night, but she hadn’t given everyone action replays kiss by kiss, as Courtney had. Had Alice kissed Kieran? What else could account for the glow? Jen didn’t have a glow of her own. She just had a really strange feeling, like jet lag or pregnancy or walking on the moon. Not that she’d ever experienced any of those things, but she could imagine. Since Wednesday night, she’d inhabited a different planet to the one she’d lived on all her life, even though she and Jonah hadn’t even kissed. They’d just talked. All night. Bruce had slept pretty well, but he always made a sound for water a couple of times each night. He’d gotten distressed at one point, too - discomfort, or a bad dream, they never knew - so she’d had to go to him a few times. He slept in the little bedroom off the rumpus room at the back of the house, where Jen and Jonah had sat and Okay, no, they hadn’t just talked. They’d made a midnight meal of toasted bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. They’d watched some of the crazy TV that came on at three in the morning. They’d gone out to
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look at the upside-down Australian moon, and the stars that made up the Southern Cross, and had come back inside with their bare feet soaked in dew. “Do you always sit up all night with him?” Jonah had asked, drying his feet with a towel Jen had given him. His feet were like the rest of his body, supple and strong and that pale coffee color. “Nope. Only when I’ve got annoying Americans with me, who won’t let me sleep.” Coffee was wrong, she’d decided. People always said coffee, but his skin had a warmer tone than that. More like tea - the way her mother made it, milky and strong. His mixed ancestry included Native American, Scottish and Portuguese, he’d told her. “Want to sleep?” She’d never been more wide awake in her life. Jonah had left just before dawn. He wanted to jog on the beach, then back to the base. He had to be the fittest person she’d ever met. “I guess you can’t come with me...” “Bruce usually wakes up pretty early.” And he had, right at that moment, before Jonah even left. Bruce was the only one in the family who knew how long Jonah had stayed, but he wouldn’t have understood what it meant. I don’t understand, either, Jen thought. Because they’d gone running together this morning, twenty-four hours after their all-night talk, and she’d had that same I’ve-known-him-forever feeling, but he still hadn’t even touched her. “Yeah, definitely fish and chips on Racecourse Beach, I think,” Courtney said. “Because that’s intimate, but it means I still have to hold off on sex.” “What’s so impossible about sex on Racecourse Beach?” Alice asked, then she whirled around as if her shirttail was on fire and gabbled, “Oh, my order’s ready, I didn’t notice. Gosh, what’s the matter with me?” Yes, Alice, thought Jen, what is the matter? You look like you suddenly have a fever of a hundred and five degrees. “No, we can’t, Judd, I can hear people coming.” “You can hear me coming if you let me have three more minutes. There is no one else on this damn beach, Courtney! What’s your problem?” Courtney shut her eyes to the crude line she’d left wide open for him with her phrasing. Really, crude was okay. She had half her clothes off, and so did Judd, but there was no way she was letting him go the full distance here and now. Not just because she’d decided ahead of time that she wouldn’t, but because it was uncomfortable and rushed and unromantic. When she and Judd made love, it was going to be earth-shattering, unforgettable and the start of something huge. Marry me huge. He was on a good career track, he was great looking, funny - cynical funny, but she liked that, and she’d get to travel with him; she’d definitely get her ticket out of Tidewater. “There are people,” she insisted. “Listen.”
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There were people. Two of them. They’d come into view, having traveled the path between the dunes to emerge onto the curve of deserted beach. One of them was wearing an American military uniform and the other one looked familiar. It was Alice. Courtney recognized her curvy figure and the cut of her dark hair. Hips wiggling, she struggled into her clothes. Making sounds of frustration, so did Judd. Alice and her companion turned north, strolling lazily with their arms around each other, and Judd said, “They haven’t even seen us. We could have - “ Courtney cut him off with her fingertips pressed softly against his mouth. “No,” she whispered. “It has to be better than this. It’s worth waiting for.” “Is that a promise?” She gave a sexy grin. “I’m good. That’s a promise.” His face lit up and he grinned back. Even in the darkness he was so-o-o good-looking. At home, half an hour later, after she’d turned down Judd’s idea of checking into a motel, Courtney heard from her mother that Connor had stopped in. “To apologize for being so snaky the other day, he said. What did he say to you, love?” “Oh, he’s got no sense of humor, that’s all. I don’t know what’s wrong with him lately.” “Well, he said he’d be home, if you didn’t get in too late and wanted to go next door.” “Why would I want to do that?” Her mother was silent for a moment, then said, “I thought you two were friends.” “Yeah, so did I. Not anymore, apparently.” “But if he came specially to apologize...” Courtney controlled a sigh. “Okay, I’ll go over.” She added casually, “Is it next week you and Dad will be away?” “Next month.” Darn! Maybe it would have to be a motel room...dinner first, definitely. Her red dress. Sexy new underwear. She was still planning the whole thing when Connor answered his front door. He got a guarded look on his face as soon as he saw her, and she wondered why she’d bothered. We used to have such great talks, Con, what happened? He used to tease her just as much as she teased him. He was four years older than her, and it had really felt good at sixteen when she’d discovered she could make him laugh. Why had he suddenly decided she wasn’t funny? Obviously because you don’t ever think of us going out together, anymore, but is the idea of a plain old friendship really that bad? “Mum said you wanted to apologize,” she told him, making it blunt to hide all the questions inside her. “Yeah, come in. Coffee?”
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“No, thanks.” She smelled something. Popcorn, which she knew he always made to go with a beer when he was watching sports. “What’s on?” “Kangaroos versus Swans.” “Could I say yes to popcorn and beer?” She’d grown up on Australian football, thanks to her dad. “Sure, yeah, of course,” Connor said. She followed him in and hung around near the kitchen door while he got another beer out of the fridge and poured the microwave popcorn into two bowls. He moved with swift efficiency, and she wondered if that came from working in the compact galley of Gallagher Charters’ biggest boat. He’d really worked to make some changes in his life over the past couple of years, and they showed in his body, and in the aura he gave off. Courtney felt stuck in a rut by comparison, but then thought about gorgeous Judd, and her determination, and her hopes. “This is the first day of the rest of my life,” she muttered. And that life was going to include her old friendship with Connor. She didn’t want to lose it, even though she’d lost the ego stroke part. She’d learn from Connor himself and put in some work to try and salvage the rest. Giving her one bowl and the beer, he went through to where the game had reached a knife-edge third quarter, with the score at ninety to eighty-nine. “Oh, so close!” she said. “Tell me how it went in the first two quarters.” “Sure. Yeah, it’s been a good game, neck-and-neck all the way through.” That’s better. We’re talking. But she couldn’t help noticing that he waited until she’d sat down before deliberately choosing the far side of the opposite couch. “How is the exercise going?” Alice asked Kieran. To her own ears, as they walked along the darkened expanse of Racecourse Beach, it sounded like exactly what it was - a polite, inane question from someone who knew zilch about anything military. “It’s going fine, but let’s not talk about it, okay?” “Is it secret?” She couldn’t help sounding relieved. “Yeah, there’s that, but even if it wasn’t...look, I don’t express myself all that well with the personal stuff.” “That’s okay.” “So I hope this is going to come out right. I am having such a great time with you, Alice. I hadn’t expected anything like this. It’s like we’re on an island somewhere, and - “ He stopped and shook his head. “When you asked the other night if I could kiss you...” Again he stopped, then said in a tone that echoed Alice’s own quiet desperation, “Can I just kiss you again?” “Oh, yes, please!” she breathed. They stopped in the middle of the sand, while the slow waves kept on scouring the beach. She closed her eyes instinctively as he took her in his arms, and his warmth made the perfect barrier against the chill of a night sea-breeze on her bare skin. Oh, she’d been waiting for this! On Wednesday night, she’d scared herself too much with her own boldness; she’d hardly been able to experience the touch of him while it was actually happening.
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But, oh, she’d lived it over and over ever since! And now, again... This time, she stayed right inside every moment. Her whole body felt like a parched desert newly blessed by rain. It hummed. It sang. So long. It’s been so long. “You feel so good,” Kieran groaned. “So do you...” She felt his strong hands spread across her backside, making the silk velvet of her dark blue dress slip against her sensitized thighs. She felt his arousal, too, big and hard and heavy, and felt the way he tried to angle himself so that she wouldn’t. Oh, Kieran, as if I didn’t know about it, as if I didn’t want it. It’s good. They kissed for minutes, and it felt like hours, and the only reason she wanted to stop was so that she could tell him how much more she wanted from him tonight. Making love on the beach. She’d imagined it over and over. Oh, lord, she’d blushed so hard today when she’d blurted out that give-away question to Courtney. What’s so impossible about sex on Racecourse Beach? She tried to slide her swollen mouth away from his, but he didn’t want to stop, and finally she had to grab both sides of his jaw with her hands and pull him away. He looked shocked. Bereft, almost. “Kieran, you know my situation,” she said desperately, before he could decide that this was a rejection. It was anything but. “With Bruce?” “Yes. I’ll never leave him, never abandon him. I loved the man he was, and he’s the father of my children. I’m not looking for someone else to be with for the rest of my life. But we can’t...I haven’t...and I so want...” She sighed. “I need it, Kieran. I want this, just once, just these few weeks.” “To make love.” “Yes.” His body started to shake. He pressed his face into her neck and his hips against her stomach, at last letting her feel what she already knew she’d done to him. “Where?” he said hoarsely. “Here. My place. I don’t care. The twins are camping this weekend.” “Your place. That way, we’ll have the whole night.” “Here. I can’t wait for the drive.” She was already so close, pushed to breaking point by his mouth and his hands and the power of her own need.
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“Here, and then your place. All night.” The words were intense. Oh, dear lord, yes, she thought, all night. He picked her up effortlessly and she tightened her arms around his neck as he carried her into the empty dunes. Jonah was out of the evening debriefing way later than he’d hoped to be. He’d promised himself that he would find a way - or an excuse? Did she need him to have an excuse? - to see Jen tonight, but it wasn’t going to look good if anyone saw him leaving the base at this hour when he had a predawn start tomorrow. The assumption was that an officer at his level would be conserving his energy for what really counted, and he was already down on sleep after spending all night talking with her Wednesday, and again two days ago. Why had he done that? Talk, talk, talk. Why hadn’t he just taken her to bed? Because she was different.
Chapter 4: He didn’t stop to analyze how he knew this, but he did know it, on the same powerful, intuitive gut level that he’d known he had to keep himself clean of alcohol and drugs on the dirt-poor reservation where he’d been raised, and that he had to get himself and his sister out of there as soon as he could. Yeah, he had a certain talent for that kind of knowing. An intuition of destiny, maybe? It was like the way you could sometimes smell rain before it came - could he smell it now? - or hear the change of season in the cadence of a breeze. He’d seen Jen waitressing at the Tidewater Bar and Grill, with her silky light brown hair twisted on top of her head, her sea-green eyes that flashed with intelligence and humor, her athletic build and her smooth skin, and he’d known within five minutes that she was going to be important. The time they’d spent together since then had confirmed his intuition a hundred times over. Impatience stalked him like a storm cloud in his peripheral vision, and he somehow knew that he didn’t have much time. Somehow knew? Well, yeah! Of course he didn’t have much time! He’d be leaving here in three weeks! But it felt even more urgent than that. She smiled when she discovered him at her front door, a dazzling smile of instant happiness, but seconds later the smile had drained away. She’d taken another look at her own powerful reaction to him, and she didn’t like or trust it. It didn’t surprise Jonah that he could read her so well. “Can we go out?” he asked. She wasn’t dressed for bed, he was relieved to see, although she easily could have been because it was that late. “Do you have Bruce tonight?” “We have him, but Mum’s taking care of him. There aren’t a lot of places we can go in this town, Jonah.” Yep, she’s creating obstacles again. I’ve been right to take this slow. He knew she wouldn’t want to head to the place she worked five shifts a week, so he suggested, “The beach?”
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On cue, the rain started, as if the weather was on Jen’s side not his, but Jonah had faith that he could best both of these opponents in a clean fight. Jen saw the khaki-colored Land Rover in the driveway, with its Australian army license plate. “Can we sit in the tank, there?” she asked. “We can sit in it, but let’s take it someplace.” “Okay.” Good. First round to him. She hadn’t said no. He didn’t think she had any idea, as yet, of the strength and meaning of this season change thing he could feel in the air between them. If she did, she was incredibly wary about it. But at least she hadn’t said no and shut the door in his face. Under her directions, he drove out of town to the west, on a road he recognized from some reconnoitering he’d done in connection with his team’s part in the exercises. They turned onto a side road that soon began to climb higher, winding through trees whose trunks stood out like white ghosts when the headlights hit. The road opened out into a parking area and Jen announced, “Mount Ware Lookout. If you park in front of the stone wall, we can see the ocean from the car.” “Not all that interested in the ocean tonight, Jen,” he told her. Her eyes went wide and her soft lips parted on an unsteady breath. She knew what was going to happen, and she knew how momentous it was going to be. He’d won the second round, but he wasn’t kidding himself yet that the battle was over. Jonah was good, she’d give him that, Jen thought. He’d softened her up with two nights of incredible conversation, and goofy moments like the stars and dewy feet thing, and then a crazy midnight visit to Tidewater Creek on Friday night to get pebbles to skip on the waves back at the beach. One of Jonah’s pebbles had skipped six times. By this point, Jen had felt like an eight-year-old at the best party in the history of the world, as if she’d been lifted off the ground by a house-sized bunch of helium balloons colored like rainbows and was floating over paradise. Jonah had held off on kissing her for so long that she wanted it way more than she wanted to want it, if that made any sense at all. Oh hell, it didn’t! Oh hell, it scared her! Oh hell, he was a fantastic kisser! Ignoring her moment of panic, he leaned across the front seat and gathered her into his arms, his mouth dropping against hers like a sun-warmed plum fresh from the tree. Already grabbing hungrily at his back, Jen felt the firm ripple of his muscles and the stretch of his black T-shirt - he wasn’t in uniform tonight. Her thinking zigzagged all over the place. Fresh sensations piled up inside her, each one clamoring for attention and answers. His body was so solid and perfect!
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Why did he smell and taste so good? So right? Why did the rhythm of his breathing make her feel this way? Outside, the rain poured down the windows, and the sound of it and the blur of it and the darkness locked Jen and Jonah in a cocoon-sized universe she never wanted to leave. But then the kiss slowed. It stopped. Jonah pinned her face between his cupped hands and looked at her. She stroked the back of his head, which was warm and prickly-soft. “Hi,” she said, waiting. He was going to ask about taking her to bed. She was going to say yes. She absolutely was not going to think about her previous cynical and judgmental attitude regarding quick, sexy flings with visiting American servicemen, because she didn’t care anymore. This was too strong, and she wanted it too much. “I love you.” “What?” “I love you, Jen.” She tensed. “No. No! Don’t say that. Please. It scares me. Something like that can’t be true, Jonah. Not after a week.” “You wouldn’t think so, would you, but sometimes it is. This time, it is.” She made a helpless sound that meant stop and I’m scared and this has never happened to me before, and he laughed. “Hey, should I just go back to kissing you?” She laughed, too. “Yes, before you spoil it!” But it was already spoiled. She pulled back after a mechanical minute and told him angrily, “You didn’t have to say it! You really didn’t! I’d have slept with you anyway. In a heartbeat.” “You think that’s why I said it?” The flat of his hand thumped the steering wheel hard. “To get you to sleep with me?” Another thump. “Jeez, Jen!” “Oh, you’re going to tell me it’s not why?” “Of course it’s not! I don’t play games. I would never play games with you.” He hissed out a harsh breath between his teeth and shook his head. “Well, I’m not playing games, either!”
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“No? Aren’t you?” he almost yelled. She saw the way his upper arms had tightened into balls of muscle. He was so strong and fit, and he was every bit as angry as she was, could have forced her physically to do anything he wanted, and yet she still felt so safe - safe about being angry, safe about being honest, even when neither of them might like what the other said. “I’m not playing games, Jonah.” Instinctively, she stroked his hand, softening its grip on the wheel. She found every detail special - the knobby knuckles, the lean fingers. “Love is such a huge word. It has...you know...ramifications. Can we please only think about now?” “So tell me what you want now.” “Oh, you know what I want...you know...” “I can’t believe this amazing month is already halfway through!” Courtney said, grabbing some breathing space at the kitchen serving hatch. After a couple of zoo-like evenings at the Tidewater Bar and Grill, there was only a sprinkling of military personnel there, all of them senior-ranking officers out of uniform taking a short break from the intensity of life at the base. The grunt-level personnel were back out in the wilds - phase two of Wargame Dingo I. “So you’re halfway to a marriage proposal?” Jen teased. Courtney narrowed her eyes and smiled a woman-of-mystery type smile that in reality looked more like woman who’d lost her contact lenses. “I am on target and closing in,” she agreed, “to use military jargon” “But how do you feel?” Jen asked. Confused? As if I were stuck in a storm with gale-force winds blowing three directions at once? “Great! I feel great!” Courtney said. “I mean, I wanted this, but I didn’t think it would be so easy and...and just right. Even when he’s out on the exercise and we can’t see each other, I - ” “Right? It feels right? Like, if you’re angry with him - “ “That’s just it, Jen. I’m never angry with him. We understand each other.” “You can understand someone and still be angry with them.” “Can you?” Courtney turned to Alice, who’d just arrived with a pile of food-stained dishes. “What do you think, Alice? Can you understand someone and still be angry with them?” “Sorry, what did you say?” Alice beamed, but the expression in her eyes was about a thousand miles away. “Never mind,” Jen said. “It doesn’t matter, Courtney. Forget I said it. Everyone’s different.” They got busier after this, and it wasn’t until the next morning at home in Jen’s rumpus room that she was able to grab a better, more private moment with Alice. Alice was due to spend the day here with Bruce, and the twins had come over to their grandparents’ to play games on the Internet, while Jen planned to take advantage of the ensuing quiet at Alice’s to write up a major assignment on marine invertebrates. She hadn’t been thinking nearly enough about marine invertebrates over the past couple of weeks. “Alice, do you think you’re in love with him?”
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If being in love made you more beautiful, then Alice had to be, because she looked fabulous - glowing, graceful, soft, with that pretty blush that just wouldn’t stay out of her cheeks. “Oh, please, Jen, I’m not trying to label this,” she said. “I’m just living it.” “But if you were, if it got serious, you can’t decide that you don’t have the right to follow-through. I know there are people in Tidewater who’d gossip, but it’s none of their business. You’re not married to Bruce. You’re free.” “He gave me this smile last night, Jen...” “Kieran?” “Bruce. And it had love in it, and recognition.” “Oh, Alice!” “I’m happy,” she said. “I am so happy with what’s happening with Kieran. But I don’t want any more from it than these few weeks. He’s not over his divorce. He’s the kind of man who puts everything into a marriage, then takes a long time to move on. Most nights, he’s busy with briefings and meetings. We’ve only seen each other a handful of times. And they’ve been pearls. Perfect. Memories for me.” She touched her own body without realizing what she was doing, making a soft fist between her breasts then running her palms down her sides. The gestures said more clearly than words ever could how sensually alive Kieran had made her feel, and Jen was so happy for her that when they hugged seconds later, both of them could barely breathe. “It’s all I want, Jen,” Alice said as she pulled away. “I’m not free the way you’re thinking. Not in my heart. I don’t want to be. I just want what’s happening now. But you, you know your parents would never hold you back if you wanted to leave Tidewater. And this guy you’ve been seeing?” Jen shook her head, pressed her hands over her ears, felt her stomach instantly knot. “I can’t talk about that,” she said. “I have no answers on it. I’m not leaving Tidewater. I have to write my assignment. Please don’t ask!” Jen eyed Jonah carefully as she jogged alongside him. “Know what I did last week?” she panted as she spoke. “What?” Jonah didn’t pant at all. They ran along the beach matching stride, rhythm and distance, which meant that this counted as an easy stroll as far as he was concerned. For her, it was a marathon. “Went to the doctor and got myself tested for sexually transmitted diseases,” she said. “A whole slew of them.” He didn’t flinch or get angry, the way she expected and half wanted him to - the way she’d been provoking him to, really. He just kept running. “Yeah?” he said. “Why? We’ve used protection.” Maddened by his lack of reaction, when she was feeling such a total mess herself, Jen screeched to a halt in the sand, the balls of her bare feet digging in, the backs of her hands pressed to her hips. “Because I think I’m insane to be doing this -- feeling like this!” she yelled, still panting. The morning sun peeked over the water at that moment, turning the cold blue sand to shadowed gold. “So you should have gotten yourself tested for insanity, not STDs,” Jonah yelled back. He hadn’t stopped running. He hadn’t even broken stride. He’d just turned to face her, and started running backward. He wasn’t
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smiling, but she thought he might start to at any moment, which would really get her angry! “I’m not making you sleep with me, Jen.” “You’re making me - “ Crazy. But they’d covered that topic already. “Test results back yet?” he asked calmly. He was still running backward, his pacing short but remaining in rhythm. About eight seconds from now he was going to hit a sharp piece of driftwood, lance his foot and trip himself. Jen sprinted to catch up, ready to warn him, but he turned again, saw the driftwood and veered around it without a word. “They were all negative,” she said. “I could have told you they would be, with protection or without. I don’t sleep around.” “I wanted independent verification.” I wanted proof that I’ve spent the past couple of weeks making the worst mistake of my life. Or, second option, proof that I haven’t. “Now you just have to work out how you’re going to get independent verification on how you feel,” Jonah said. The words had a thick sarcastic edge, and yet he still seemed to be taking her ridiculous behavior on the chin. “Yep,” she answered. “You should have gotten that insanity test. You feel what you feel, Jen. It’s a lot simpler than you seem to think.”
Chapter 5: “No! It’s not!” Suddenly, she was blinking back tears. Oh, she was crazy! Absolutely! She was behind in her studies. She dragged through her waitressing shifts like a zombie. She hadn’t had enough sleep in almost three weeks, not since that first night they’d talked. She got up in the dark so she could run with Jonah, snatched at any opportunity for making love, and now she felt sick to her empty stomach and her lungs burned, and he just told her to feel what she felt. It absolutely was not the heck as simple as that! Here’s how I feel, Jonah. “I’m going to throw up.” But I’m not telling you I’m going to cry. The throwing up might manage to camouflage that. “Hey...” He slowed, circled around, stopped beside her. Bending forward with her hands braced against her knees, Jen felt him start to rub her back. She sniffed back tears and heaved in lungfuls of air that felt sharp as a knife, and her stomach continued to rebel, despite the way his touch soothed and eased her. He didn’t speak. The sun freed itself from the flat line of ocean and floated. Jen felt the first glow of morning warmth on her skin. “Be okay soon,” she gasped.
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“Yeah? I have water.” He reached for the canteen in the side pocket of his daypack, took off the top and coaxed her to straighten. “Here.” He held it to her mouth, even lifted her jaw with his fingers so she was tipped back far enough to swallow. It tasted cold and good but it wasn’t enough. “You’re crying.” “No,” she lied. But I am most definitely throwing up... “So?” Jen said to Jonah. “Still here?” She’d emptied his water canteen and fouled up his spare T-shirt, but at least she was clean. And could breathe. And smile. And hopefully her eyes weren’t red from crying anymore. “Throwing up on a guy’s shirt is not the most efficient or effective way to dump him, Jen. A phone call is easier.” “I’ll remember that.” “And I’ll get the dumping phone call tonight?” “I’m not dumping you.” “No.” He didn’t sound surprised, relieved or grateful. Just smug. And kind. “I know you’re not.” Mainly smug, actually. “So you’re telling me that throwing up on a guy’s shirt is of zero use in the dating game?” “I never said that. It’s incredibly useful. Really good indicator that a guy is serious about you when he doesn’t immediately throw the shirt in the trash. Even better indicator if the guy, while still carrying the shirt, asks you to marry him.” “Right.” She laughed. Mmm, stomach felt a lot better. His voice dropped. “So will you, Jen?” “Will I?” She didn’t understand. Oxygen wasn’t getting to the brain. “Marry me.” “Wha-a-at?” “I’ve been talking to some people. It should be possible for me to get some kind of exchange with the Australian army for the first few years. Maybe even based here in Tidewater, although that’s not likely. I know there’d be sacrifices for you. Changes. But I’d meet you halfway as much as I could. We could make it work. Kids, we’d have to talk about, but I’ve seen you with the twins. I think we’d make great parents together, Jen.” “Wha-a-a-at? Jonah...!” “Okay, does it help if I drop the shirt?” He did so. He positioned them both so that they were side-on to the ocean, with the sun hitting their cheekbones, temples, hair and ears. The tide was coming in. A frothy edged wave lapped cool and salty at their bare feet. “Will you marry me, Jennifer Anne Portman?” “Unh!” she squeaked. Speechless. Utterly speechless.
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He grinned down at her and said softly, “Go on, you know you want to.” Oh, lord, and she did! That was the crazy part! Everything he’d just said made so much sense, she could almost see it. See their future kids, heaven help her! They were standing here on a deserted early morning beach, and the white foam on the waves was so dazzling bright that it hurt her eyes. And she wanted him, and she cared about him, and even when they were angry with each other they could be honest about it, and it all felt so natural and real. Even though it couldn’t be. “No,” she whispered. “No, you don’t want to?” “I’m not going to.” She took a shuddery, desperate breath and said it again, in case it wasn’t clear, in case she hadn’t really meant it enough before. “No, Jonah. I’m not going to marry you. The answer is no.” Silence. He held her, standing motionless, his face shuttered, and for the first time in...oh...days, she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, if she’d made him angry, if she’d deeply wounded him, if he would shrug it off in a few hours, if he was even serious, damn it, about the momentous things he’d said... A bigger wave came in. It grabbed hold of the messed-up shirt and swept it down the sand, then let it go, ready for it to get grabbed again by the next wave. Neither Jen nor Jonah cared. “We should talk some more about this,” he finally said. “After you’ve had some time.” “I don’t need time. I’ve said no, Jonah.” Make me change my mind. Please? “Tell me, you don’t feel strongly enough? This doesn’t feel huge, to you?” “Yes, it does! But it happened so fast, like a tidal wave. One day I didn’t know you, and then the next - “ “Yeah, me, too.” “What if it goes again the same way? What if the tidal wave ebbs?” She was speaking in gasps, could hardly get out the words. “They do! What if we wake up one morning next week or next month and it’s...just...not...there? There’s no foundation for it.” “You’re thinking about Bruce and Alice, aren’t you?” She looked at him. How had he known? Out loud, she asked, “How could Alice have sacrificed so much for him if she’d only known him a couple of months when the accident happened? I don’t think she could. There has to be a foundation for it, Jonah. I’ve seen how incredibly deep love has to go if it’s to withstand what life can bring.” “The foundation is easy, the foundation is just faith - that what we feel is there, and real. Love is always an act of faith, no matter how long or how short two people’s history is.”
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“No.” She knew she had to keep saying it, but she knew it wouldn’t get any easier no matter how many times she did. No, no, no. No was only a word. “No...” “Huh?” Entwined with Courtney on her parents’ couch, Judd pulled back a little, jerked his neck out and looked at her, one hand still circling over her breasts like a dish-mop around a plate. He needed a little more finesse to his technique, but they could work on that once they’d dealt with certain other issues. “Stop, okay?” Her jeans were twisted from Judd’s attempts to get inside them. The center seam burned her crotch in a way that wasn’t remotely erotic. “Not here. Not now. My parents could get back at any minute.” “You wouldn’t go to a motel. You wouldn’t do it on the beach. What the hell is your problem, Courtney?” You’re supposed to tell me you love me, first. But maybe that wasn’t realistic, twenty-five days after they’d first met. Maybe it was enough to have held him off sex for this long. She needed something, though. Some sign that he was thinking about an open-ended future, a shared understanding. Some sign that this was the positive step forward that she was looking for in her life. Some sign that she was important to him, that they were both committed to working through the emerging problems between them, such as the fact that his breast technique was, to be honest, awful. “I - I’m not that kind of girl, that’s all,” she said, knowing how lame it sounded. Judd swore, almost spitting with impatience. He had the most gorgeous blue eyes, but they looked like the business-end of a welding tool right now, sparking with an ice-cold fire. “I don’t believe it! You sound like a seventeen-year-old in a 50’s movie! Trust me, Courtney, you are that kind of girl. Tarty blonde with tarty breasts - “ he flipped and jiggled them “ - in tarty clothes. What other kind do you think I’m interested in?” It hurt - ow, and her breasts hurt, too - but she couldn’t believe he really meant it. Not after the things he’d said, and the way they’d clicked in so many ways. Especially all those teasing, sexy talks on the phone. “I thought you were interested in me...” she said. “I am.” “Not just in my body.” “That, too.” “Judd...” He shifted on the couch, stroked her face and softened his expression to the one she’d seen on him so often before. “I think you’re hot and sexy and beautiful, you know that,” he whispered. “From the moment I first saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. She’s special, I thought. Now, let’s just do it, and we’ll be dressed again, sitting on separate couches with our hands folded in our laps watching a nature documentary on TV by the time your parents walk in. You should get your own place, for heck’s sake!”
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“Can we talk first?” “Talk? More?” “Really talk. About what’s going to happen next week, when you’re finished here. What’s going to happen about us?” He looked at her, and the pale blue fire of disgust was back. “Us? You haven’t even let me get inside your pants and you’re talking about us like this was Gone with the Wind.” Courtney got the strong impression he’d never read Gone with the Wind. Connor was the only man she’d ever met who’d understood that book. They’d had a great, rambling, incoherent but interesting discussion once about the kinds of people who flourished during the upheaval of a civilization, who could adapt. Like Scarlett O’Hara. She grabbed on to this memory from several years ago because it somehow helped her deal with the present, which was far less pleasant. “I thought there was an us,” she said steadily. “Oh, shoot,” he said in total disgust. “This is pointless. I am out of here. I cannot believe I have - “ ...expletive... “ -- wasted twenty-five - “ ...expletive... “ -- days with you!” He stood up. The front door slammed behind him. Hating herself, Courtney reached it in a few strides and wrenched it open again. “Judd, wait!” Connor heard the sound of the front door slamming at Courtney’s. Then he heard a lot of swearing, in an unfamiliar male voice. The guy sounded angry, hostile, nasty. The back of his neck prickled. Courtney’s parents always went to their sports club on Monday nights, so apart from the unknown Mr. Profanity, she was probably alone. “Leave it, you incurable sap,” he growled at himself. “Just turn the TV up louder and forget about it. She’s pretty strong, in a lot of ways. She can handle her own men.” And she is never, ever, in a million years going to see you as anything other than the nerdy neighbor who should still be working in a bank because that would give her better material for making fun of you, so accept it and get over her! He really thought he had, until a few weeks ago. He’d hardly seen her for months, and so much else in his life had changed that he thought surely his feelings about Courtney should have changed, too. He loved the boat business, was heartily thankful he’d seen the light with Simone. Neither he nor Simone had done each other any favors with that relationship. So he’d expected to find he only valued Courtney as a friend. She’d said something to him on that subject recently - how much she valued him as a friend. But yeah, when he discovered, much to his own frustration, that he still wanted a lot more than that, friendship really seemed insipid. In some ways, he’d prefer not to see her at all, because when he did, he got angry at himself and some of it spilled over onto her. He knew he’d been too sharp with her a couple of times. And she’s not your problem, so turn the TV louder, big guy. Sighing through his teeth, he reached for the remote and switched it off instead.
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“Oh, crikey, what the hell is it now?” he heard coming from the man standing in the driveway next door. “Judd, I - I think we can work this out.” That was Courtney’s voice. She sounded eager and timid and upset, all at the same time. Connor got slowly to his feet. “Work out what?” he heard. “I can give you what you want.” There was a sour laugh. “What the hell would make you think I still want it?” “Because - because you did. For nearly a month. We were, like, panting, Judd, on the phone.” Connor stepped quietly out his front door, and got his first covert look at Judd. “Yeah, well, you’re the type that’s better at phone sex than the real thing. A tease. I don’t want your baggage, Courtney.” “My baggage?” Judd reeled off several of the most derogatory words ever invented to describe the female sex. Connor stepped through the oleander bushes that ran between the two driveways. Courtney and Judd both saw him at the same time. “Get out of the way, Court,” he growled. She realized at once what he was squaring up for, although Mr. Profanity apparently didn’t. “No, Connor,” she shrieked. “He’s in the military!” “Yeah, well, I’m a sailor,” Connor said, then cracked his fist through the man’s jaw with a noise better than the punch sounds in the movies. The guy reeled back, blood already flowing freely from his mouth. “Jeeth!” he said in disbelief. “Fhutt! Thip!” Connor felt satisfied and sick to his stomach at the same time. Winding coffee-grinder winches and hauling in sport fish was better for a man’s body than a gym workout any day. “Now just get out of here,” he said, and managed to keep his language clean. The guy gave a dazed head movement that could have been a nod. He reeled to the car, thumped heavily into the front seat and drove off, while Connor and Courtney both watched in silence. The vehicle wove all over the deserted street. “He shouldn’t be driving like that,” Connor said. “I should have called an ambulance.” But the taillights had steadied before they disappeared.
Chapter 6: He turned to Courtney and saw how her shoulders were shaking. Ah, hell! He put his arms around her and made soothing, helpless sounds, his whole heart burning for her. Would she let him hold her?
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“Let’s go inside,” he said gently. “My place, in case your parents get back and your dad wants to go looking for more of the guy’s blood. I’ll make you a hot drink.” He kissed the top of her head, and her fluffy hair tickled his face, giving off a scent like almonds and roses. She didn’t pull away. “You smell like the sea,” she said to Connor in a tiny, raspy whisper. “Is that good?” he had to ask, because she’d once told him he smelled like money, which definitely wasn’t. “The best.” Half whisper, half squeak. Her shoulders heaved in his arms. “Well, thanks,” he said. “A lot better than your bank jokes.” “Oh, Connor,” she sobbed. “I’m so stupid!” “No, you’re not. You’re great. I’ve thought so since you were sixteen.” She was sobbing so hard that she couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. They both knew there was nothing that needed to be said. “Are they all shipping out the same day?” Jen asked Alice, at home. “Over three or four days, Kieran said. He’ll be one of the first, on Saturday night.” Isn’t it going to tear you apart? Jen didn’t ask the question because she was too scared that Alice would ask her the same question back. She shouldn’t have kept on seeing him, she knew. After the marriage conversation on the beach, she should have stopped returning his calls, stopped juggling her shifts to make time for him. But she hadn’t had enough sense to do that. Or enough willpower. They’d seen each other or talked by phone whenever possible, and only the military exercise had managed to keep them apart - over the past few days, very effectively. She hadn’t seen Jonah at all. The clock was ticking now. The exercise ended officially on Saturday, three days away. But would Jonah be leaving right after it? Would he call? What if he just flew out, without the opportunity for goodbye? “You told him no, so does it really matter, Jen?” she muttered to herself as she took Bruce his dinner and got ready to feed it to him. He gave her one of his steady-eyed looks, then smiled unevenly when he saw that she had chocolate mousse as well as soup. “Yay, favorite food, big guy,” she told him. “Phone for you,” Alice said fifteen minutes later, when Jen and Bruce were done. Jen’s heart thumped. Alice had a little sparkle of encouragement in her face, which said, “It’s him!” She raced to the phone. Play it cool? Let everything show? Beg, if he says he can’t see you? But Alice had gotten confused by the American accent. It wasn’t Jonah at all. It was his commanding officer. “I’m sorry, Miss Portman,” he said. “I’m afraid I have some pretty bad news.” *
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Lord, it all seemed so familiar! The tubes and wires and monitors, the flat lighting, the terrifying pallor and stillness to Jonah’s face. Jen had only been thirteen at the time of Bruce’s accident, but she remembered it so clearly, and this seemed nearly the same. Jonah was on quarter-hourly observations and one-to-one nursing care, and he’d been flown by a medical helicopter over a hundred kilometers to a hospital with the facilities to keep him alive. Jen had made the drive that same night, on her own. Alice had offered to come, but Jen wouldn’t let her. “I’ll be okay.” I’m not letting you miss Kieran’s goodbye. It had been too late to see Jonah by the time she’d arrived, so she’d checked into the nearest motel and showed up at his bedside first thing that morning, as soon as the hospital staff would let her in. The nurse moved quietly around the bed, checking his chart, adding a fresh dose of medication to his I.V. She and Jen had exchanged a few words, but nothing of significance yet. I have to ask. I can’t hide from this. She cleared her throat. “Is it known, yet, whether he’ll make a full recovery?” “No, I’m afraid. Not really,” said the nurse. Jen wasn’t surprised. It had taken months before they’d really known...accepted...about Bruce. There was a movement in the doorway, and a man in an American uniform stepped in. She didn’t know what rank, or anything. Jonah’s superior officer? She’d gotten interested in that stuff recently, but now she was too terrified to care. But there was one more question she still needed to ask. Had to clear her throat again. “I’ve been wondering how you knew to get hold of me,” she said, and sketched out the only scenario that seemed possible, the scenario that offered some hope. “Did - did he speak before he lost consciousness, or - or - “ “No, I’m sorry,” the officer said, “he hasn’t spoken since the accident.” The tank Jonah was riding in had rolled. He had some significant cuts and bruises, and he had a head injury. “How we knew? His sister was listed as his next of kin. We called her, and she seemed to think you’d want to know.” Jonah had told his sister about her? Jen’s heart lurched. They’d both talked about their families to each other, sure. Jen knew that he and Zara Longman had both been raised by an uncle and a series of honorary aunts. She knew it had been tough, and that Jonah and Zara were close. She didn’t know the two of them had talked about “Yes, absolutely,” she told the officer. “I absolutely wanted to know. And I am so glad he told...and she realized...and...“ But she couldn’t finish the words. “He hasn’t regained consciousness yet,” Alice told Kieran. “But at least his other injuries are minor, no organ damage, no broken bones. If the head injury turns out not to be severe, then hopefully...”
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There had been too many unfinished sentences like this in her life. She tried to put on a smile. They were saying goodbye, and all she could do was talk about Jen and Jonah and the accident, which reminded her so much of what had happened with Bruce sixteen years ago. Her heart ached for so many people today, she’d lost count. “You have my address, my number, all my details,” Kieran said. “Yes, and you have mine.” They’d already said this to each other about six times. “They’ll call the flight soon.” “Yes, any minute,” Alice agreed. The base was busy. People and equipment getting shipped around Australia, back across the Pacific and to other locations in the region where the U.S. military kept a presence. She saw some Australian uniforms, too, which at least prompted her to remember a more cheerful piece of small talk to fill in the last remaining minutes. “Oh! I didn’t tell you! One of my friends from the Tidewater Bar and Grill is getting married!” Now she sounded idiotically chirpy, like a children’s TV presenter who hadn’t taken her medication. “She’s going to stop waitressing and work with him and his brother in their boat business.” “That’s nice,” Kieran agreed. He reached across at thigh level and slid her hand into his. Beginning of the end, Alice knew. “It was cute the way it happened,” she gabbled. “He’s her neighbor and apparently he’d been in l - “ “Stop,” Kieran said. He brushed his thumb across her mouth. “We don’t have much time.” “I know. And I hate that.” Her voice shook slightly, but she couldn’t control it. “I’m going to hate this part.” “Yeah, me, too. So let’s say the important stuff and get it over with.” “Tell me the important stuff, Kieran.” She’d lost sight of it, right now. “We both have lives in our own country that we can’t leave,” he said. “People we can’t leave, people we love who need us. And I have my career. We’re not free.” “I know.” “We’ve had a great time together, haven’t we?” “Perfect. Just perfect, Kieran.” “Not a sour note, not a missed beat.” “And that’s all I wanted,” she agreed. “It is. I know this has to happen. We’ve talked about it all along, and it’s the only way it can be and I don’t regret anything. Not one second.” “Oh, jeez...” he breathed.
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They held each other, their bodies pressed close together. One small movement from each of them brought their warm mouths into contact, and their kiss was slow and sweet. “I don’t regret a second of it, either, Alice,” he said. He shifted a little, drew away just far enough to lock his gaze on hers. “You know what people say a lot? That life is short.” He quoted in a mocking tone, “Life’s too short to...whatever. But you know what? I think that’s bulldust. It’s just not true anymore, not for most people. In my country, and in yours. Life is long.” “I guess it is.” She frowned, not quite sure where he was heading with this. “I guess I’ve said it, too, the life’s too short thing.” “Don’t say it again.” His mouth was only an inch from hers. “Promise me, Alice. It’s important. Say the opposite. Life is long. Situations change. Remember that. And one day something that isn’t possible now...for the two of us...might come to pass. If we want.” “Life is long.” She said it like a prayer. It felt like one. The flight announcement came. “Don’t drag it out,” she told him. “No, I hate that, too.” “Bye, Kieran.” “Bye, Alice.” They kissed again, then he turned and walked away. She cried all the way home to the Portmans’ place to pick up the twins, and when she’d stopped the car in the driveway and turned off the engine, she sat in it for several minutes without making a move, feeling boneless and drained. Time. I just need a little time before I go in. She sat a little longer, then she knew that the interlude had to end, so she unfastened her seatbelt, squared her shoulders and spoke to the steering wheel. “Life is long.” Her heart lifted a little, and the strength began to flow back into her limbs. Sliding the keys from the ignition, she climbed out of the vehicle and went into the house, smiling through her tears. A person usually bounced back faster from a head injury if their period of coma lasted a shorter time. The longer the coma, the worse tended to be their chances of ever coming back the same as they were before the accident. Bruce stayed in a coma for two months. Jonah had been unconscious for five days. Five days, and counting. His sister, Zara, had flown out from California, and she and Jen were taking turns sitting with him and talking to him, because sometimes it could just be like shaking a person awake when it was time to get up in the morning. That simple. You’d say the patient’s name, and he’d open his eyes. So far it hadn’t happened. Zara was great, though. A female version of Jonah, “only lazier” she said.
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Not all that lazy. She did jazz dance stretches on the hospital floor, and could talk a marathon, too. When she and Jen weren’t taking turns beside Jonah, they sat there both at the same time and covered twenty conversation topics in an hour. It was an incredible exercise in bonding, and it was horrible, horrible, horrible, at the same time. Exhausting, stressful, boring, dotted with moments of false hope, swept over by curtains of black despair. Jen doubted she could keep it up for much longer...and she knew she wouldn’t have to. At some point soon, when Jonah’s condition had stabilized, even if he hadn’t woken up, they’d fly him home. “What do you want from me, Jonah?” she asked him the evening on the fifth day. Zara would be there soon, to kick her out of the hospital room and back to the motel to get some early sleep. “Are you waiting for something? Your doctor says your scan is looking good, so can you let us know you’re still in there, please? I believe you are. I know you are. So can you come back? If it would help, you can wake up and ask me to marry you again, and this time I’ll say yes. I promise. I promise. With all my heart.” She looked at his face and waited, but there was nothing. Time passed. Zara arrived. “Sorry I’m late.” She looked so like her brother that it hurt. The same coloring, the same smile. ”You’re not. It’s fine. Sit.” “And you go.” “Not just yet. I want to say something, Zara.” She swallowed nervously. “Your brother asked me to marry him, did he tell you that?” ”Yes, and you turned him down.” “Oh, lord, he even told you that! But now, you know, if I could turn back the clock...” The tears came, and she couldn’t speak. She felt Zara’s hand rubbing her arm and knew that she didn’t have any words, either. They both calmed down after a few minutes, but there didn’t seem any point in trying to finish the conversation. Zara understood. And words couldn’t help. Exhausted, Jen let Jonah’s sister push her gently toward the door. “Food and bed, Jen, okay?” “Okay.” “The clock.” Male voice. Creaky. From the bed. Jonah? They both turned to him, skin prickling all over.
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Key Witness by Terri Reed Kristin Conrad thinks she’s safe. She has a small but thriving business, a stable—if uneventful—home and a church community that she finds fulfilling. She never thought she’d stumble onto a murder. Or become a target herself. Now, her only safe haven is in the protection of Detective Andy Howell. He’s exactly the kind of man she would have avoided—a man with his own scars who lives on the razor-thin line of danger every day. A man that touches her heart. But can he really keep her safe?
Chapter One “Evening, Miss Conrad.” Kristin smiled at the doorman of her Gramercy Park apartment building. “How are you tonight, Matt?” “Good, thanks. Quiet around here. I think the heat's getting to everyone,” he said before turning back to his laptop which was open on the counter. “No doubt.” The late August heat had broken records the past few days. Stifling a yawn, Kristin rode the elevator to the tenth floor. Her day hadn’t been quiet, thankfully. The clothing store she owned in SoHo had been constantly busy until she finally locked up for the night. It didn’t get better than that. Once on the tenth floor, she bypassed her own apartment and she stopped in front of the next unit over. She rapped her knuckles against the wood door. The ajar door moved slightly. The fine hairs at the base of Kristin’s neck quivered with apprehension. Sue never left her door open. Using the toe of her Faragamo heels, Kristin pushed the door open. “Sue?” Kristin went cold. The place looked like a tornado had touched down in the middle of the apartment. Papers and debris were strewn all around. The furniture was tipped over—some of it smashed—and the stuffing from the flowered chintz couch rested in various places like cloud puffs. Alarm twisted in Kristin’s chest. The need to run slammed painfully against her ribs. She should get out of here. Call 911. Do something. But fear for her friend pulled Kristin further into the living room as a prayer of protection rose from her soul. A scruffy, thin man dressed in ratty jeans and a grimy T-shirt jerked upright in the center of the living room and met Kristin’s gaze.
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Kristin froze. Shock traversed the lines of her nerves, firing off all the cylinders like electrical switches. She’d thought she was alone—but someone was still here! Kristin’s gaze dropped. Sue lay motionless at the man’s feet. A dark crimson stain spread across the Turkish area rug beneath her body. Terror built inside Kristin’s chest and self-preservation kicked into gear. She stumbled back until she hit the door jamb. The man moved in a streak, hurdling over Sue’s body and lurching towards Kristin. Kristin let loose a ragged scream and ran for the emergency stairwell. She rammed into the door. It smashed against the wall with a resounding bang. She practically fell down the stairs as her pursuer’s frenzied steps echoed from above. Don’t look back. She flew down the stairs to the lobby level. She burst through the door screaming, “Call 911!” Her frantic gaze sought someway to bar the exit. Nothing was in reach. She flattened her back against the door, prepared to at least slow the killer down when he tried to exit. But no one came through the door.
*** NYPD Homicide Detective Andy Howell surveyed the interior of the small apartment, mentally cataloging the scene. Loose papers, couch ripped to shreds, furniture broken. Clues amid chaos. He shifted aside so his partner, Paul Wallace, could take a look. Andy turned to the first officer at the scene. “What’ve we got?” Officer Florez consulted his notes. “One female victim—the apartment’s occupant, Sue Hyong, a reporter for the Village Voice. DOA at the scene. Looks like blunt force trauma, but won’t know for sure until the ME arrives.” A reporter. The computer and layer of papers littering the apartment made sense. “Murder weapon?” Florez pointed toward a lamp lying near the victims’ body. “Maybe that. Forensics is on their way.” “Witnesses?” “One. A neighbor, Kristin Conrad.” “Did she hear a commotion?” “No. Says she walked in and saw a man standing over the dead body. The perp then chased her down the emergency stairs to the lobby.” “So the doorman got a look at him, too?” Florez shook his head. “Nope. Perp never came out of the stairwell.”
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Andy’s pulse kicked into high gear. The murderer was still in the building?
Chapter Two Andy’s heart pounded against his ribs as the threat of danger to their witness revved his senses to high alert. If the perp was still in the building, they had to secure the witness. “Where’s the witness?” Officer Florez gestured with his hand. “Next apartment over. I have a man stationed with her. But we've already combed the building and came up with nothing. We’re widening the search now.” Relieved that the witness was in protective custody, Andy’s heart rate slowed. He pulled the center of his attention back to the crime scene. Was this a B&E gone bad, or was this an assassination? Paul clapped him on the back. “I’ll go help search. You do the interview.” “Fine,” Andy replied. But first, he wanted a better look at the crime scene. Taking out his notebook, he recorded his observations. From the amount of damage, the perp had to have been searching for something. Had the victim come home to find him in the apartment, or was she here when he invaded? He bent closer to the woman on the floor. His cursory inspection showed defensive wounds. She’d fought her attacker. Good for her. Skin under her nails would provide evidence once they caught the guy. If there was skin… The ME arrived and Andy moved to the apartment next door to interview the witness. After identifying himself to the officer standing guard, he entered the apartment. Comfortable furniture and splashes of color made the small space cozy and welcoming. Art work decorated the walls. He glanced around, noting no personal photos. In the living room, a young woman sat on the overstuffed couch hugging her knees to her chest. Though her arms were bare, her striped skirt covered everything else but the tips of her pink-polished toes. The vulnerability of the pose twisted in his gut, triggering a terrifying memory of his sister the day he’d failed to protect her. For a moment the simple act of breathing was torture to his lungs. He coughed into his hand, forcing the images away. Mentally refocusing, he stepped closer to the woman. With her head bent forward, all Andy could see was a veil of thick blond hair. “Miss Conrad?” She lifted her head. Her pale, oval face had dark streaks showing the lines of her tears. Her pink lips trembled. His protective instincts roared to life. “Yes?” Struck by the vivid color of her bright green eyes, so wide and sad, Andy noted the pupils were dilated with shock. Empathy bounced in his chest like a super ball. “I’m Detective Howell.” She nodded and reached for his outstretched hand. His fingers closed over her smaller ones, their palms met. Her hand fit snugly within his grasp. Warmth shimmied up his arm. She tugged her hand back, making him aware he’d held on longer than he’d meant to. Reluctantly, he let go. “I need to ask you some questions,” Andy said. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and lowered her feet to the floor. With graceful movements, she smoothed out her skirt. He noted no rings on her fingers. Was there a boyfriend that needed to be called?
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He frowned. Now why did he hope there wasn’t?
Chapter Three Wanting to put her at ease so he could get the answers he needed, Andy moved to sit beside her on the couch, but left enough of a gap not to crowd her. “Can you tell me what happened?” Her voice shook as she spoke. “I was leaving the store where I work when Sue texted me. She wanted me to bring home a package she’d asked me to hold for her. When I arrived at her apartment the door was open…and this man was standing over…her body. He chased me down the emergency stairs.” Her panicked gaze shifted from him to the door and back again. “He must still be in the building!” The need to reassure her rose sharply. “We’ve searched the building—don’t worry, you’re safe. Right now we’re combing the neighborhood. If he’s here, we'll find him.” Though the worry didn’t leave her pretty eyes, her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Sue’s dead, right?” He nodded. She closed her eyes tight. Tears streamed down her face. She made no effort to wipe them away. Her grief touched him, made him want to offer her comfort, but that wasn’t his job. His job was to solve a murder. So he forced himself to concentrate on the facts. “Do you still have this package?” She nodded and pointed to the dining table. On top of the round pine table sat a small box wrapped in brown paper. “You have no idea what’s inside?” “No. Sue said it was a gift for her grandmother in Seoul. Do you think the box has something to do with her murder?” “Could be. Do you know what Miss Hyong was working on at the paper?” “No. I’m sorry. She wouldn’t talk about her articles.” She hiccupped with a sob. “If only I’d arrived sooner so I could have helped her.” More tears spilled over her long lashes and Andy’s gut clenched. The sorrow of others didn’t usually bother him so strongly—he had enough of his own grief to deal with. But this woman’s pain affected him. Maybe the guilt and grief filling her big green eyes reminded him too much of his own. He forced himself to stay focused. “Would you be willing to come to the station and look through some mug shots and work with our sketch artist?” “Yes, of course.” She rose, her skirt fluttering about her slender ankles. She was taller than he’d first thought, maybe only a couple inches shorter than his six-three frame. Attraction flared—it wasn’t every day he met a woman tall enough to spark his interest. But there was no place for sparks at a crime scene. Annoyed with himself, he turned his attention back to the box.
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Andy carried it with him as he escorted Kristin out of the building where they met up with Paul. “The guy broke into an apartment on the second floor and used the fire escape. But there’s no trace of him now. Doesn’t look like he stuck around.” “Make sure a patrol is left to keep it that way,” Andy said. He helped Kristin into the back of an awaiting police cruiser and rode with her to the station, making small talk in an attempt to keep her from dwelling on the murder. Though he doubted that would be possible. Once at the station, he set her up in a room with a cup of coffee and a stack of photo albums containing the mug shots of New York’s criminals, the latest and the greatest. Andy left her there and joined Paul at his desk. “Anything?” Paul looked at his notes. “Hyong’s editor at the Village Voice said she’d been working on a story that she was really hush-hush about.” “Seems Miss Hyong was a secretive person,” Andy said. He undid the wrapping on the package he’d taken from Kristin. Inside, nestled among cotton batting, lay a small key, like the type used to open a safe deposit box. So Grandmother was getting this for a present? Interesting. And curious. What did the key open and who wanted it?
Chapter Four Kristin’s eyes blurred. She rubbed at her eyes to wipe away the fatigue from looking at so many pictures. It didn’t work. She’d been at it for an hour, looking at page after page of photos, and still hadn’t found the man who had been in Sue’s apartment. Sue. Tears welled in Kristin’s eyes. Her temples throbbed. She dropped her face into her hand and tried not to think of the gruesome scene. But the horror of seeing that man bent over Sue’s body wouldn’t release its ferocious grip. Kristin did her best to banish the image—that wouldn’t help find her friend’s killer. The best way for her to be of any use was to keep looking. She dropped her hands back to the book in front of her and resumed searching the photos. The door opened and Detective Howell walked in. Kristin straightened slightly, embarrassed to be caught slouching in the chair. Her mother hadn’t been big on etiquette, but one thing she’d always hated was when Kristin slouched. Kristin’s gaze raked over the detective. She couldn’t help but notice that he was tall, broad-shouldered and attractive, even if his suit was ill-fitting and made of cheap fabric. But more than his physical appearance, she’d appreciated the way he’d tried to put her at ease from the moment he’d entered her apartment. He’d been gentle and kind. Even asking if there was a boyfriend or some family member he could call for her. Unfortunately, there wasn’t. She noticed a slight limp on his left leg when he walked. Had he been injured in the line of duty? Was he in pain with every step? A ribbon of sympathy wound around her, making her already tender emotions ache all the more. The detective smiled, showing straight white teeth. His kind smile softened the prominence of his nose and relieved the hardness of his jaw. He had a face a girl could get used to seeing every day. Heat climbed up her neck. Where had that thought come from?
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“Any luck?” he asked. She dropped her gaze to the book lying in front of her. “No, not yet.” She gestured toward the stack of albums to her right. “I still have these five books to go through, though.” “Can I get you some more coffee or hot chocolate?” “No, thank you, Detective,” she replied, appreciating his gracious and generous treatment. “Did you open the package?” At his nod, she asked, “What was inside?” He took the seat opposite of her. “A key to a safe deposit box. Any idea where Miss Hyong banked?” His use of the past tense squeezed at her chest, making her heart throb. She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” He leaned across the table and covered her hand with his. Warmth enveloped her and curled around her heart like a salve to the bruises there. “And I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he said, his midnight-colored eyes tender. “I just hope you catch that guy.” She tried to ignore the way her heart thumped in her chest at his touch. Something about this man called to her lonely heart in a way no one had in a very long time. She appreciated that he took time—time to listen to her, time to comfort her, time to touch her…. He sat back, leaving a warm spot where his hand had been. “We’ll do our best.” “And I better do mine.” She pulled another book in front of her and began flipping through the pages. A face jumped out at her. Fear slammed into her chest. Her breath caught and held as she stared into the eyes of the man who’d killed Sue.
Chapter Five “Him,” Kristin whispered. “Show me.” She pointed to the image on the page. The man’s face would be forever burned in her mind. She shuddered. Detective Howell pulled the book toward him. “You’re sure?” “One-hundred percent sure.” He smiled with approval as he rose. “Good. I’ll have an officer escort you home and stay with you until we catch the guy.” Grateful for his consideration, she rose and came around the table. Unable to resist, she placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you for everything.” He placed his hand over hers once again and gave a gentle squeeze. “Just doing my job.”
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His job. A job full of uncertainty and danger—the opposite of what she craved in her own life. She’d spent too many years never knowing what was coming or where she’d end up from one day to the next. She’d worked hard to put down roots. She couldn’t deny her attraction to the detective, but pursuing it made little sense. All she wanted in her life was stability and security—neither of which this man’s job could offer if something were to develop between them. It was a good thing they wouldn’t ever see each other again.
*** As Kristin left the station, Andy felt like a part of him was going with her. Odd. He’d never had such a reaction to anyone before. Let alone a witness. He was usually good about compartmentalizing his emotions and reactions. But not so with Miss Conrad. He wouldn’t be a red-blooded male if he denied she was easy on the eyes. But her looks alone were not what made her special. She’d somehow gotten under his skin with her vulnerability and her willingness to help catch the bad guy. He shrugged off the sentimental nonsense. He had a job to do. He turned his mind to finding the man she’d identified—Charlie Linder. A two-bit drug dealer with a history—which dated back to his teens—of breaking the law. Which meant that with a quick computer search, Andy would know the thug’s last known address. Just shy of an hour later, Andy and his partner, Paul, stood in front of the Brooklyn Flats apartment building where Charlie Linder resided. They climbed the stairs to the third floor. A foul odor, like raw sewage, permeated the stifling late summer air and filled the hallway to gagging proportions. The whir of fans echoed off the dank walls. Andy rapped his knuckles hard against Charlie’s dark green door. “It’s the police. Open up, Charlie,” Paul yelled. Andy pressed his ear to the door but heard nothing. “Let’s get the super.” A few minutes later, the building superintendent—a squat man with a balding head, shiny with sweat—used his master key to open the door. The smell was stronger in the apartment. Covering his mouth and nose with a hand, Andy entered the living room. On the floor a pile of garbage spilled out of an overturned trash can. Andy looked up. Charlie Linder swung from a knotted rope tied to the living room light fixture.
Chapter Six The super threw up all over Andy’s shoes. Sympathy for the guy twisted in his gut. Seeing a guy hanging from a light wasn’t something one saw every day. This was probably only the third such death Andy had seen in his ten years on the force. Paul hustled the man out. Andy called in for the crime scene techs. “Looks like suicide,” Paul said as he reentered.
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“Yeah, looks like. But it’s too much of a coincidence. Why would Linder kill himself?” Andy slipped on a pair of gloves. Paul shrugged. “Remorse for killing the Hyong woman?” “Doubtful.” Andy moved toward the hall. “I’ll take the bedroom.” “Kitchen,” Paul said and put on a pair of gloves as well. A few minutes later, Paul yelled for Andy. Leaving the dismal mess of Charlie’s bedroom, Andy hurried to the kitchen where Paul stood in front of the refrigerator. “Look what we have here.” Paul pointed to the interior of the top-door freezer. Stacks of bound money flanked two large plastic bags of white powder. Andy did a quick calculation—the street value of the stash equaled more than Andy’s and Paul’s salaries combined. “Drugs and murder. The two always seem to go together,” Andy remarked dryly. But just how did Sue Hyong fit into the equation?
*** The killer was dead. Kristin had no reason to be afraid anymore. Except she was still scared. The senseless violence had rocked her illusion of safety. Living in a secure building, knowing her neighbors and being alert to her surroundings couldn’t guarantee her well-being. Even the extra locks she’d had installed yesterday at home and at the store didn’t bring her a greater sense of security. Yes, she’d made a stable life for herself, one where she felt comfortable, but comfort wasn’t protection. And as she tried to come to terms with Sue’s death, the constant need to look over her shoulder only served to tighten her nerves. At Sue’s graveside service, Kristin’s gaze traveled through the small crowd, wondering where the next threat would come from. She stood slightly behind Sue’s parents as the long black casket was lowered into the ground. Mrs. Hyong’s sobs made Kristin’s own tears flow more freely. The pastor’s soothing voice lifted on the humid breeze that did little to relieve the hot sun beating down on the small group of mourners gathered in the cemetery. Kristin said a silent prayer of peace for Sue’s parents, though she wondered if peace was possible when there was no logical reason for such a tragedy. The Hyongs had been informed that Sue’s death was the result of a random home invasion. No physical evidence suggested a connection between Sue and the now-dead man who’d killed her. The unpredictability of the crime made Kristin’s deep-seated insecurities leap to life. She’d tried so hard as an adult to find the security and stability her parents hadn’t provided with their nomadic lifestyle as touring musicians. Between the constant roaming from town to town and her parents fanatical warnings for her to stay safely out of sight at all times when they weren’t with her, fear had been her only friend. And now, to think that some random intruder could have as easily picked her apartment as Sue’s skewed the axis of her carefully plotted life. Was true security and stability ever possible?
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As the service ended, a touch on her elbow sent Kristin’s pulse skyrocketing. She jerked away and whipped around to find herself staring into the deep depths of Detective Howell’s midnight eyes. “Detective. You startled me.” One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Sorry. And please, call me Andy.” His gaze traveled to the now closed-over grave. “I just wanted to let you know I’m still trying to find the safe deposit box that fits Miss Hyong’s key. The bank she’d used didn’t have a box on file for her.” “That seems odd,” Kristin said, wondering what Sue had been hiding. “Why lock up a lock?”
Chapter Seven “My thought exactly,” Andy stated with approval in his gaze. Kristin’s heart did a little bump and roll. Heat infused her cheeks. “So then you are still working the case?” “Unofficially,” he replied and loosened the tie at his neck. “Why?” A shudder of renewed fear ripped through her. “Don’t you believe Linder was the murderer?” “No, I’m sure he was the guy, I just don’t like unanswered questions,” he said. “Why had your friend hidden the key?” “The answer may not have anything to do with her death,” Kristin said, hoping that was the case. “True.” He smiled and her fear faded. She admired his dedication and tenacity. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” They walked toward the parking lot. After a moment of comfortable silence, Kristin asked the question burning in her mind. “What happened to your leg?” Red crept up his neck. “Playing college basketball. Blew out my knee enough to ruin any chance of being a pro ball player—but not enough to keep me off the force.” “I thought maybe you’d been hurt in the line of duty,” she said. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “No, not yet.” She prayed never. “You know, you should come down to the store one day. I’d love to outfit you properly,” she said and then realized how rude her words sounded as he arched a dark blonde brow. “Not to say that your suit isn’t…well, that you don’t dress…” Oh, brother, she was not only swallowing her foot but her whole leg. “Never mind,” she finished softly and wished the earth would open and claim her. His gentle laugh soothed her embarrassment. “It’s okay. I have a hard time finding anything that will fit my lanky frame.” “I could,” she blurted out. “I mean, I could find you the right fit.” “I’ll take you up on that,” he said and held out his elbow. “Can I take you home?”
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Touched by his manners, and oddly excited by the offer, she placed her arm through his. “I’d like that.” She’d prefer a ride with him over public transportation any day, but today especially she needed the sense of security that he seemed to exude. The ride from the Queens cemetery back into the city flew by as their conversation flowed easily from books to movies to sports and even politics, which they agreed to disagree on. Soon they were standing at the door to her apartment. She really wanted to invite him in for coffee but something held her back. Maybe it was the easy way they chatted without that awkward pressure to keep the conversation going, or maybe it was the attraction zinging through her veins. Neither was good for her peace of mind—he was a man who lived a life of risk, where at any moment the unpredictable could happen. She couldn’t imagine inviting that kind of fear into her life on a daily basis. She gave a mental, cynical laugh. On the other hand, hadn’t Sue’s death shown her how unsecure life could be for anyone? Shaking away the conflicting thoughts, she smiled at Andy. “Thank you for the ride.” He smiled back, sending her heart knocking against her ribs. She quickly turned to unlock the door and found it slightly open. A horrible sense of déjà vu gripped her. She stepped back and bumped up against the hard wall of Andy’s chest. “It’s open,” she whispered. Pushing her behind him, he motioned for her to move farther down the hall as he withdrew his weapon from the holster beneath his suit jacket. Gripping the gun with both hands, he placed himself near the door jamb as he used the toe of his scuffed dress shoe to push the door wider. When he disappeared inside, Kristin squeezed her eyes tight and prayed for his safety.
Chapter Eight “All clear,” Andy said as he reemerged from her apartment. “You’ve had a break-in.” A break-in. Fear shivered down Kristin’s spine. Andy whipped out his cell phone and within ten minutes the crime scene technicians arrived. The head of the unit, a woman named Barbara Sims, approached Andy. “Walk me through this.” Kristin listened as Andy explained the situation. She was so thankful he’d been here. He’d kept her from freaking out with his calm manner and reassuring words. She stepped closer to him as the technicians dusted for prints and snapped off pictures of her torn-apart apartment. Thirty minutes later, Sims nodded to Kristin. “You can go in now. Take a look around, see what’s missing.” Andy followed Kristin through the apartment. Even the kitchen drawers had been dumped on the linoleum floor. Her hall closet stood wide open, her coats lay in a heap on the carpet, the pockets turned inside out. Her bedroom drawers were ripped from their slots and the contents spread across the floor. Her bed had even been stripped, the mattress flipped on its side. Her bedroom closet and the bathroom had received the same treatment. “I can’t tell if anything is missing,” she said coming back into the living. “I don’t have anything of value except the TV, stereo and computer, which are all still here.”
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“Jewelry?” She shook her head. “Not worth anything.” “It looks like they were searching for something,” said Andy. Kristin met his gaze and could see he was thinking the same thought she was. The key. “This wasn’t a random break and enter, was it? This is related to Sue’s death. Someone else is involved. Whoever is behind this mustn’t have realized I’d turned Sue’s box over to you guys. And now they’re after me.”
*** After the crime scene technicians cleared out, Kristin and Andy stood alone in the center of her living room. “I feel so violated,” she said and wrapped her arms around her middle. “That’s natural.” She shuddered. “What if I’d been home? Would I have been killed like Sue?” Andy stepped closer and slid his arm around her, drawing her tightly to his solid chest. “Don’t think about that. We’re organizing another place for you to stay. You’re safe now.” “I know. It’s just so jarring….” she said, her voice quiet while she took comfort from his embrace. “I’ll help you put things away,” he offered. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll be okay,” she said and moved away from him. “You’re not okay.” “I appreciate your offer…” “But?” She met his gaze. “I like you.” One side of his mouth tipped upward. “I like you, too.” It would be cruel of her to continue to take advantage of his generous and caring nature when she had no intention of having their relationship go any further. Life could be random and unpredictable, but that didn’t mean she should or would deliberately embrace trouble. And he certainly qualified as trouble. She wanted a peaceful, steady life. Not one with surprises or uncertainties. Both of which came part and parcel with Andy. He frowned, his gaze searching her face. “Look. I’m not leaving, so I might as well help.” “Do you intend to stand guard twenty-four-seven?” she challenged. “If need be,” he stated, his jaw hardened into a determined line. She didn’t really want to be alone right now anyway, so why was she fighting him?
Chapter Nine
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“Okay, if you don’t mind helping me with this mess,” Kristin said. She pointed to the pile of plastic CD cases strewn on the floor near the stereo. “You can start re-shelving the CDs.” He removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Any particular order you want them in?” She was tempted to say alphabetical just to see his reaction but decided that would be cruel. “No. Just in their proper case and on the shelf.” As he worked at putting the right CD in the right jacket, he asked, “I can’t remember if I asked this already. Did you grow up here in New York?” She picked up a decorative pillow from the floor. “No, you didn’t ask, and no, I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t move to New York until after college.” “Where’s home then?” “Here. This is home. I grew up an only child and we lived in a motor home. My parents were musicians. We traveled a lot, chasing one gig after another. Not exactly the normal American family life,” she said, wincing to hear the note of bitterness coating her words as it sometimes did any time she spoke of her parents. “You don’t get along with your parents?” She shrugged. “When I see them.” “Which I take it isn’t often.” “No, not often. The last postcard I received from them came from Thailand. Their music is still a big hit in that part of the world.” “You lived in a motor home,” Andy said, his voice laced with a mix of awe and disbelief. “I don’t think I know anyone who’s ever owned one. Motor homes aren’t exactly made for New York traffic.” “I take it you grew up in the city?” “Brooklyn Heights. How’d you go to school if you moved around a lot?” “I was ‘homeschooled.’” She made quotation marks in the air. “It was unusual at the time, not the fad that it’s become, and it left me feeling very adrift and alone most of the time.” She looked deeper into his gentle eyes. “Until I realized that knowing God meant He was with me everywhere we went. It made the moving around less frightening.” Andy repaired the leg to one of her four dining chairs. “But if your family moved around so much, how did you go to church?” “Once when I was about twelve we stopped in a small town in Oklahoma.” She smiled, remembering that summer day. “There was this big youth revival going on in the middle of the park and I was drawn to all the activity like a bee to honey.” She walked to her desk and gathered the papers. “After that, I’d go to whatever church I could find in every town we stopped in. My parents weren’t too hip on the idea but they never stopped me. After college, I moved here, found this apartment and the church down the street. Now I have a community,” she said, thinking how blessed she felt to finally have roots somewhere. “Do you go to church?” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Sometimes. My parents are very devoted. My sister, too.” “But you’re not?”
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He set the chair at the table and moved to the bookshelf. “I believe.” Something in his tone made her stop. She held bills and other mail in her hand. “But…?”
Chapter Ten “I believe God exists and that He takes care of those He loves,” Andy said. That didn’t explain the note of despair Kristin had detected in his voice. “Tell me about your family,” she said, hoping if he opened up a bit, maybe she’d understand what she’d heard. “My father is a postal worker and my mother a nurse. They’ve always worked hard to provide for my sister and me. When they worked, it was just Aleesha and me hanging out.” “Is Aleesha younger or older?” “Younger by four years.” “Are you close?” He nodded but turned away. Curious about his life and his relationship with his sister, Kristin came over to stand beside him. “Does she live in the city still, like you?” “No, she left as soon as she could. She’s married to a banker in Santa Fe, New Mexico. They have a nice life there. She owns an art gallery.” “Does she have children?” He swallowed and averted his gaze, but not before she witnessed the torment flashing there. “No. She can’t.” The note of anger and…guilt in his voice compelled her to comfort him. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry.” He stiffened then took her hand and held on. Bleakness entered his gaze. A responding gush of empathy welled up inside of her. His mouth pressed into a tight line as if he was trying to keep the words from bursting forth. Then finally he said: “It’s my fault she can’t have kids. I didn’t protect her when I should have.” “What do you mean?” “I was thirteen and mad I had to baby-sit when all my buddies were going to Coney Island for the day. I didn’t want to take her with me so I left her home alone. She was attacked and raped by some door-to-door salesman.” Kristin’s heart clenched in shock and empathy. “Did they catch the guy?” “Yes. After he attacked two other young girls.” Sorrow for the victims burned at the back of her eyes. She squeezed his hand. “You couldn’t have known what would happen that day.”
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“I shouldn’t have left her. It was my job to protect her and I chose not to.” The self-recrimination in his voice was so finely honed, so well-used, it cut into Kristin for the simple reason she was standing too close to Andy—their usual target. “And you haven’t forgiven yourself,” she stated as understanding dawned. “Andy, you were a kid. It shouldn’t have been your responsibility to protect her.” “Doesn’t matter. It was, and I failed her.” He released Kristin’s hand. Hurting for his wounded soul, she asked, “So you think God doesn’t love you because of that?” He pivoted away from her and stood by the window. The setting sun drew streaks of pink and orange across the azure sky visible between the city’s skyline. “Look, it’s getting late. You’re not staying here.” Ignoring his statement, she put her hand on his shoulder. “He does love you, Andy. God wouldn’t want you to torment yourself for something that was out of your control. If you had been home, who’s to say you wouldn’t have been hurt or even killed?” He jerked away from her. His expression closed, cutting her out of his thoughts. “We’ve made arrangements to have you to stay in a hotel tonight. I’ll take you there.” Though it pained her to see his hurt, she relented and contemplated his offer. She didn’t want to stay alone in the apartment tonight. The sense of violation lingered and the real fear that the invaders would return loomed. “Give me a minute. I’ll pack a few things.” He nodded and turned back to the window. Heart aching, she headed to her bedroom to gather her things. Lord, show me how I can help him. Would Andy ever be able to forgive himself?
Chapter Eleven Andy ran a hand over his jaw in disgusted disbelief. What on earth had he been thinking to reveal his failure to Kristin? He never talked about that day or the torment of regret that rode him hard. But maybe seeing Kristin at Sue Hyong’s funeral—clearly mourning the loss of her friend—had shown him how deeply she cared for those around her. And apparently a part of him really wanted to be cared for. But she was right. He hadn’t forgiven himself, and he doubted God had either. His family said they had, but how could they? He didn’t deserve to be forgiven. Kristin came out of her bedroom carrying a satchel slung over her shoulder. “I’m ready.” Stuffing his private pain back into his own little box in his soul, Andy composed himself. “Let’s go.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the door. He drove her to the Hilton in mid-town and paid for a single room. After settling Kristin inside, he stepped to the door. “If you need anything, I’ll be right here.” Her blond eyebrows drew together in a slight frown. “Right here?” “Outside your door.” She lowered her chin. “You don’t need to stand guard. I’m sure I’ll be safe here.” “Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving.” The bad guys who’d trashed her apartment might think she had the key in her purse, or in a pocket. He wasn’t taking any chances—much to her relief.
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Amusement entered her green eyes. “You are a stubborn man.” One side of his mouth cocked upward. “So I’ve been told.” She left the doorway and returned a moment later dragging the desk chair behind her. “Here. At least sit.” Her thoughtfulness touched him deeply, making him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her. He stepped back in surprise. Whoa! Not a good idea. Keep it professional. She needed his protection, not his advances. Though standing guard wasn’t exactly part of his job description. A fact he chose to ignore. “Thank you.” He positioned the chair to the left of the door. He straightened and turned back toward the open door, expecting her to still be standing in the doorway. But she’d moved and stood just inches from him. She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest. Stunned, yet thrilled by her gesture, he wrapped his arms around her, savoring the moment. This definitely wasn’t professional. Kristin felt way too good in his arms, too right. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to hold a woman close, not just physically but emotionally. He was in way over his head. The smart thing would be to arrange for a uniformed officer to replace him. The smart thing to do would be to let Paul take the lead on this. The smart thing to do would be to back off, right now. But sometimes he wasn’t so smart. She leaned her head back, her eyes wide and full of tenderness. “You are a good man, Detective Andy Howell.” Her words were a soothing balm to his weary soul and a bucket of reality to his sanity. He kissed her forehead and then steered her back to the room. “Goodnight,” he said and firmly shut the door to her room. And his heart.
Chapter Twelve A scream jolted Kristin awake. She bolted upright, scrambled to a sitting position against the headboard and clutched the covers to her chest. Her heart thudded in her ears. Sweat covered her skin. Her gaze searched the dark hotel room for danger. Shadows from the city lights danced at the edge of the curtains. The scream echoed inside her head. Sharp pounding at the door sent her stomach plunging with fear. “Kristin!?” More banging. Andy. Desperate to see him, she jumped from the bed and ran for the door. Her fingers scrabbled with the lock until it finally gave way. She yanked the door open.
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Tears sprang to her eyes. “Andy.” “Are you okay?” His frantic gaze swept the darkened room beyond her shoulder. “You screamed.” It had been her that had screamed. “Bad dream.” He pulled her to him, his strong arms enveloping her. Tension left her body in a swoosh, leaving her legs wobbly. She clung to him like a lifeline in a storm. He lifted her face with his hands. His gaze searched her face. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Feeling foolish for alarming him, she tried for a smile. Her lips quivered. “I’m sorry. Ever since Sue’s murder I keep dreaming about Charlie coming after me.” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “He can’t hurt you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” She wanted to believe that. Needed to believe that. “You can’t make that promise. That’s not something you can control.” His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I can do everything humanly possible.” “True.” She reached up to cup his jaw. “But only God is in control. We have none.” A fact that agitated her stomach to no end. “Then we’ll have to pray for His help.” She dropped her gaze to the front of his wrinkled white shirt and red-striped tie. “I know that, but sometimes, it’s so hard to…remember and trust.” Confessing that out loud lifted a weight off her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much she needed someone in her life she could talk to without feeling she’d be judged. Andy wouldn’t judge her. She was sure of it. One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Believe me, I understand.” She hurt for him, for the pain he carried because of what had happened to his sister. Kristin cupped his jaw in her hand. “We’re quite a pair.” He turned his head to place a kiss in her palm. Delicious shivers shimmered down her arm to tickle her heart. She met his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes sent her pulse racing and made her breath stall. Was Andy as attracted to her as she was to him? His gaze lowered to her lips. “You should try to get some sleep,” he said, his voice low and husky. Good advice. But probably not doable. Not when all she wanted was for him to kiss her. To kiss her fear away. But that would bring its own danger. Time to retreat. “Goodnight. Again.” Once Kristin had relocked the door, she pressed her hand to the solid wood as if she could touch him through the obstacle standing in the way.
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Earlier today she’d told him she liked him. But her feelings went beyond like to a deeper caring that scared her. Did she really have enough faith to trust God to keep him safe?
Chapter Thirteen Andy had expected Kristin’s store to be full of girly froufrou stuff, and though there was some, she had a very nice men’s section with some trendy as well as classic pieces. A nice surprise. When he had the time, he planned on taking Kristin up on the offer to outfit him. He looked around, eyeing the selections and their price tags. If he could afford it. She joined him in front of a display where a navy, Italian designer-brand suit hung from a wooden hanger. “That would look divine on you.” He didn’t need to look at the price tag to know it was out of his budget. “I’ll bet you’re a forty-one long.” She pulled a coat from its hanger. “Here, try this on.” Giving in to the urge to do as she instructed, he slipped off his hounds tooth sport coat and put on the one she handed to him. “Perfect,” she said. “Look.” She steered him to a mirror. He had to admit the jacket fit like it had been made for him. He turned slightly to see the back. He really liked the coat. Maybe he could splurge just once. “Hello?” Tony Guzman, one of New York’s finest walked into the store. Embarrassed to be caught preening in front of the mirror, Andy shrugged out of the coat, handed it back to Kristin and took his own jacket back before going to greet the officer. “Tony, thanks for coming.” Andy shook his hand and introduced Kristin. She pulled Andy aside. “Are you sure this is necessary? Having a uniformed officer in the store might scare away the customers.” “He’ll keep a low profile,” Andy assured her. She looked unconvinced. “Humor me, okay?” After a moment she gave a slow nod. “I’ll check in later,” Andy said before leaving the store. He headed back to the station knowing Kristin was in good hands. When he arrived, Paul waved a paper in his face. “Here’s a list of all the establishments with safe deposit boxes within a fifty mile radius of Hyong’s apartment.” “You rock. Let’s go.” Andy needed to find Sue Hyong’s safe deposit box. Because whatever she’d hidden was the key to her murder. And the key to keeping Kristin safe.
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After countless banks, Paul and Andy finally found a bank manager of a small savings and loan in the Bowery who confirmed that Sue Hyong had a safe deposit box in their facility. The bank manager took Paul and Andy back to the vault, motioning to the one registered under Sue Hyong’s name. Andy inserted the key into the small lock and pulled out the long narrow box. He set it on the table and opened the lid. “It’s empty,” he said, disbelief curling around his words. “That’s odd,” Paul said. “Then the key had nothing to do with Hyong’s murder or Conrad’s break-in. What gives?” Aggravation pulsed in Andy’s veins. “There had to be some reason Hyong secured this box.” He inspected the box on all sides. Nothing. Frustrated, he gave the box a vicious shake. Something rattled inside the box. Surprised anticipation rocketed through his system. He quickly righted the box. A small piece of plastic slid to a halt in the center of the box. “Hey, this is what we’re looking for,” he exclaimed as excitement revved through him. He picked up the square piece of plastic. “It’s a memory card for a cell phone.” “Let’s get it to the lab.” Paul led the way back to the car. As Paul drove, Andy called Kristin at the store. She would want to know what they’d found. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. Apprehension zinged across Andy’s flesh. He tightened his grip on the phone. Why wasn’t she answering? Where was the guard? He snapped the phone closed. “Something’s wrong.” Paul switched lanes, skidded into a U-turn and headed toward SoHo.
Chapter Fourteen Thankful that the light of day had banished the nightmare from last night, Kristin stripped the mannequin in the front window display of her boutique and hummed a tune her parents had written. The lively tune brought back a memory of her childhood. She’d been thirteen, old enough to help set up equipment for the band. For one moment, she’d stood on the stage staring out at the gathering crowd and excitement had zinged through her. As much as she’d resented the life her parents had chosen for them, she did understand the allure of that rush. She’d felt that same excitement when she opened the store. And every day since. Reaching for a new outfit to put on the mannequin, she let her gaze wander to the world outside. A typical summer afternoon. People passed by on the sidewalk, some hurrying with places to go and others meandering, out for a stroll along the trendy street making up the South of Houston area of Manhattan. A young boy dawdling behind his mother stopped to stare at Kristin. She smiled at the kid. The boy stuck his tongue out. With a laugh, Kristin turned her attention back to her display. She zipped up the animal-print skirt and was adjusting the hem of the matching top when the acrid smell of smoke assaulted her senses.
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Alarm quickened her breath. She scrambled out of the display window, nearly knocking over the mannequin, and rushed into the body of the store. “Hurry, we have to leave.” The young, fresh-faced officer who’d been assigned to stand guard rushed toward her. “The storage room is on fire.” No! This store was her life and she wasn’t about to let everything she’d worked so hard for be burned to ash. She pushed past the officer and grabbed a fire extinguisher from behind the cashier’s counter. “Call the fire department.” She sprinted to the storage room. Tendrils of dark smoke curled upward from the space under the closed door like long, grasping black fingers. Adrenaline-laced fear made her fingers clumsy as she struggled to operate the extinguisher. The officer grabbed the extinguisher from her. “You call 911. I’ll do this.” Urgency pounded in her blood. She scurried to the phone and fumbled to dial the emergency number. She barked out the necessary information to the too-calm operator. Anxiety twisted in her gut as flame now licked at the storage room. She stumbled through the growing smoke to find the officer, but the welcome sight of a firefighter dressed in his turnout gear deterred her. He motioned her toward the front door. “This way,” the muffled voice said from inside the mask covering his face. Relief eased some of the panic tightening her chest. Help had arrived. Impressed by the quick response to her emergency call, she hustled to the door. “There’s a police officer still inside.” “We’ll get him,” the firefighter replied. He took her firmly by the arm and pulled her outside to the sidewalk. Kristin glanced around as the firefighter rushed her toward the corner and away from the building. There was no fire truck or any emergency response vehicles parked in the street. But the distant cries of sirens drew closer. Confusion rushed in, quickly chased by apprehension. She dug in her heels, unsuccessfully trying to stop their forward momentum. “Wait! Where are you taking me?”
Chapter Fifteen The man dressed as a firefighter brutally tightened his fingers on Kristin’s arm with bruising force and dragged her to the street where a big black SUV waited. The back door flung open. Alarm and fear exploded inside Kristin. She screamed, “Help! Help me!” She twisted and yanked against her captor’s fierce grip, but he was too strong. He pushed her into the vehicle and someone roughly shoved a pungent smelling cloth against her face. She clawed at the hands holding the rag. A wave of dizziness washed over her. Her limbs suddenly refused to move as she collapsed on the seat. Hands pushed and pulled until she was completely inside and the door was slammed shut, the sound echoing inside her head. She tried to move to see who had her, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. The world narrowed to a pinprick of light that quickly vanished.
***
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Paul brought the sedan to a screeching halt next to a fire truck. Andy’s heart raced with disbelief. Smoke billowed out of Kristin’s store. Panic clawed at Andy’s insides like a caged cat. He jumped from the car and ran toward the front door. A firefighter grabbed him, preventing him from running into the dense smoke. “Where’s Kristin?” Andy yelled. “The owner?” The firefighter shook his head. Fear, stark and breath-stealing, seized him and wouldn’t let go. I can’t lose her, not when I’ve just found her. He wasn’t sure where that thought had come from, but there was no time to analyze his feelings. Only one thing mattered—Kristin. “Please, God, please, don’t let her be dead.” With a fierce yank, Andy broke free of the firefighter’s restraining hands and rushed closer to where two paramedics worked on Tony, the officer assigned to protect Kristin. Andy knelt down beside the sooty officer. “Kristin? Where is she?” Tony grabbed at the oxygen mask covering his face and pulled it away to talk. “She got…out.” Andy sagged back on his heels with relief. But he needed to see for himself that she was safe. He bolted, pushing through the crowd. “Kristin! Kristin Conrad!” Where was she? “Hey, Mister,” a raspy voice called to him. “You lookin’ for the shop lady?” Andy’s gaze landed on a disheveled man hunched near the corner waving to him. Hungry for any information, he hurried over. Digging into his pocket for some change, he questioned the man. “Did you see her? Do you know where she is?” Taking the change like precious gems, the homeless man nodded and pointed to the side street. “Firefighter stuffed her into a big black monster. It took off that way.” He pointed south. Terror squeezed his lungs like a vice. “A firefighter? Are you sure?” “Yep. He looked just like them others, only his hat was yeller instead of black.” Unsure of the reliability of the man’s story, Andy swiftly moved to the firefighter giving orders. Andy flashed his badge. “Hey, any of your guys wearing a yellow helmet?” “No. Why?” Gesturing to the homeless man, Andy said, “He saw the owner of the store being forced into a black vehicle by a firefighter with a yellow hat.” “Not one of my guys,” the chief assured him. Dread and panic closed around Andy’s throat. Kristin had been kidnapped!
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Chapter Sixteen “Did you find her?” Paul asked. Shaking his head, Andy choked out the details of Kristin’s abduction, though he clung to the hope that the homeless guy had been wrong. Paul looked around and then pointed across the street on the corner to a bank building. “Let’s check if they have a video of the abduction.” Moving in a fog of fear and alarm, Andy ran with Paul to the bank and burst through the double doors. They explained the situation to the startled security guard and were led to the security office. “Do you have a video feed of the southwest corner?” Andy asked, urging the man to move fast. They were losing precious time. He had to find Kristin. The officer manning the desk nodded. “Sure do.” “Rewind the tape,” Paul instructed. With a few clicks, the video monitor showed the activity on the street in reverse mode. “There!” Andy pointed to the images on the screen. Terror slayed his soul as he watched Kristin being forced into a black SUV by a firefighter in turnout gear and a yellow helmet. A mask obscured the man’s face as he came around the front of the vehicle and got in on the passenger side. The SUV sped away. The license plate was conspicuously missing. Glare from the sun obscured the other occupants. Rage cut off the air supply to Andy’s brain. Impotent fury aimed at himself for not keeping her safe roared in his ears. For a moment the room dimmed. He struck out at the wall with a fist. Paul placed a hand on Andy’s arm, concern and compassion bright in his eyes. “We’ve got the memory card, remember? We’ll find her.” Andy prayed so. Forcing himself to function, Andy called in an alert with the model and make of the SUV as Paul drove them back to the station. When they arrived, Andy went directly to the lab tech. “Clyde, I need you to download whatever’s on here ASAP.” Irritation crossed Clyde’s expression as he stared at Andy through his thick glasses. “I’m busy.” Andy slammed his hand on Clyde’s desk. “Now.” Without further comment Clyde took the small memory card and inspected it. “Looks like a two gig for a PDA.” “Can you pull the images off it?” Agitation made his voice shaky. “Of course.” Clyde dug through a drawer and pulled out a larger square piece of plastic. Sticking the card into the square, he then inserted it into a slot on the laptop sitting on the desk. A few moments later, a video image streamed through the screen and focused on a brick warehouse. A soft female voice spoke with a slight accent. “Day four of following Charlie. We’re on the north side of Queens. Not far from the LIE and BQE. Can’t make out the address on the warehouse.”
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Graffiti marred the exterior of the building. Two huge metal rolling doors stood partially open. Paul barked out an order to a passing officer. “Get me a listing of the warehouses in North Queens near the LIE and BQE. Stat.” Forcing himself to breath, Andy concentrated on the screen. A gathering of men congregated near one door as if waiting for something. “That’s Charlie Linder.” Andy pointed to the skinny man nervously smoking a cigarette at the back of the crowd. “Now we know his connection to Hyong. She must have been doing a story on him,” Paul commented. “But why Linder?” Andy asked. “He was just a street thug.” A black SUV pulled up, sending the gathered men into action. Andy’s heart raced. The vehicle looked exactly like the one that had whisked away Kristin.
Chapter Seventeen The doors of the vehicle opened and more men exited. One man in particular caught Andy’s attention. He leaned closer to the computer to focus on the well-dressed man who stood out from the rest. There was no mistaking the former commander of the United Colombian Auto-Defense militia. His face graced every major law enforcement agency’s most wanted list for drug trafficking. “George Mendoza! I thought he’d fled back to Colombia?” The voice on the video continued speaking, “Oh, no. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Mendoza himself. Oooh, hello Pulitzer for this one. Wait. What are they doing? Oh, no. Oh, no!” Andy wondered the same thing as the cargo doors to the SUV were flung open and a man, bound and gagged, was dragged out and dropped on the ground. A collective gasp filled the small lab room as Andy, Paul and Clyde recognized Assistant District Attorney Michael Schomus. The man had been missing for two weeks. Horror filled Andy as Mendoza approached Schomus with a gun. Mendoza bent down to say something in Schomus’ ear, then Mendoza straightened and fired two rounds into Schomus. The screen went dark. A shocked silence filled the lab. Nausea roiled in Andy’s gut. God rest his soul and help me to protect Kristin. Terror ignited a fiery trail in his chest. What if he was already too late? Mendoza thought nothing of murdering a public official. What would keep him from killing Kristin? “We’ve got to find that warehouse,” Andy said and headed into the heart of the station. “He may not have taken her there,” Paul said, his voice full of concern and caution. Trying to compartmentalize his emotions—but failing miserably—Andy rounded on Paul. “It’s all we have. Are you with me?” Paul drew himself up, looking hurt. “Of course.” Andy didn’t have time to smooth over Paul’s feelings. “We need to get tactical on this.” “Agreed.”
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Three minutes later they had an address matching the description of the warehouse and in record time they moved out of the station. But it wasn’t fast enough. A howl of pent up rage lay trapped in Andy’s lungs as he endured the insufferably long ride to North Queens. He could only pray they wouldn’t be too late.
*** “Where is it?” The angry bellow shuddered through Kristin. She shook her head trying to focus on the man yelling in her face. He’d been asking her for some video ever since she awoke. “I don’t know anything about a video.” She’d moved past fear and panic into numb horror after the initial shock of being kidnapped and tied to a chair in a dank, smelly room had passed. Sunlight tried to brighten the space but the dingy window wouldn’t allow much of the sun’s glow to invade the room. But at least she hadn’t been unconscious long enough for the sun to go down. Unless it had simply come back up again… The man standing before her had hit her twice already. She could feel the tightening of skin over her cheek from the swelling and she was pretty sure her lip was split, if the blood she tasted was any indication. “I said tell me where it is.” He raised his hand for a third blow. Cringing with anticipation of the pain, she cried out, “Jesus save me.”
Chapter Eighteen The man stayed his hand, his expression turning impossibly harder. His olive complexion seemed to blanch as he stared at her with coal-black eyes. “God will not save you. There is no God,” the man stated harshly. His hand descended for another stinging blow. Light exploded behind Kristin’s right eye. Her head lolled to the side as waves of pain washed over her. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. The man spit on the ground. He turned back to the two men standing near the door, he said, “You’ve searched her house and her store?” “Yes, sir. Nothing.” “Where could it be?” His frustration echoed off the concrete walls. “If the police get a hold of that video we’re done for. Are you sure Linder said this woman had it?” One of the thugs by the door shrugged his massive shoulders. “That’s what he said. Claimed the reporter told him she would give him the video when her neighbor got home.” “Maybe she meant another neighbor, you idiots,” the man screamed. “Go back to that apartment building and find me that video. Burn down the place if you have to.” The two thugs exchanged glances before silently leaving the room.
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Dismay ran a ragged course over Kristin, rousing her from the pain in her face. She struggled against her restraints, needing to somehow protect her neighbors, her community. The cords at her hands and feet held. Helplessness seeped the fight out of her. The only way to help the innocent people in her building was to tell the man about the key, so he wouldn’t go there and trash the building or hurt anyone else. “The police,” she said. “They have the key.” The man stalked closer. “What did you say?” “Sue left a key with me. The police have it.” Rage lit his black eyes like embers in a fire pit. He swore, a graphic litany half in English and half in Spanish, then turned on his shiny black Florsheims and exited out the door. Kristin breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t be hitting her any time soon. But then a terrible thought entered her mind: they didn’t need her any longer. She was as good as dead now. She closed her eyes tight and prayed Andy would find her, even as despair tried to rob her of any hope. She had no idea where she was. How did she expect Andy to know where to look? In despair, she slumped into the chair. A noise startled her. She blinked, though her right eye was swollen to a slit. The door opened again. Alarm brought her fully upright. She braced herself. This was it. They’d kill her now for sure. A man slipped inside, a gun in his hand. Andy. A cry of joy escaped her sore lips. She’d never thought she’d see him again. And would never have the opportunity to tell him how she felt about him. Love swelled in her chest and tears crested her lashes. “I can’t believe you’re here.” “Shhh.” He worked to undo the ties that bound her. “We’re not out of danger yet.” When she was finally released, she flung herself into his arms. “I prayed you’d come.” “I prayed I’d find you.” He gave her a tight squeeze. “God answered both of our prayers. Come on now, we’ve got to go.” He ushered her toward the door, but froze when the man and two new thugs entered the room, weapons drawn and aimed straight for them. Kristin cringed with dread and resignation. Now they would die.
Chapter Nineteen
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Pushing Kristin behind him, Andy faced Mendoza and his men. The roar of rage for the abuse purpling Kristin’s lovely face almost drowned out the voice from his earpiece telling him to back up, to lure Mendoza farther into the room. The only chance of survival that he and Kristin had was to follow the tactical team’s orders through the earpiece jammed into his right ear. Andy stepped back, forcing Kristin to do the same. “You’re done, Mendoza. We have the video.” Mendoza moved forward. “And I have you.” “You killed Schomus in cold blood. You’ll get the death penalty for that,” Andy said, hoping to buy some time. “Andy?” Kristin’s frightened whisper tugged at his heart. He turned his head slightly so that only she’d hear him. “Trust me. Trust God.” Her big green eyes showed her fear, but she nodded. “Why’d you kill Schomus? What did he have on you?” Mendoza laughed. “What makes you so sure Schomus wasn’t working for me?” Andy had only known the Assistant DA in passing, but he’d seemed like a stand up kind of guy. “He wouldn’t stoop so low.” Andy pressed Kristin back toward the center of the room to where the SWAT sniper’s rifle would have a clean shot of Mendoza and his men. “You’re so short-sighted.” Mendoza shook his head with disgust. “You all think just because someone works for the law that they must adhere to the law.” “Schomus wasn’t crooked.” Andy hoped. “How do you think I’ve stayed in business for so long?” Sick at the thought that the ADA had been dirty, Andy asked, “How’d Linder discover that he was being watched?” Mendoza stepped closer. “Linder. What a nut job. I swear, sometimes good help is hard to find.” Andy continued, slowly luring Mendoza toward the center of the room. “You didn’t answer my question.” “That reporter wasn’t careful. One of my men saw her trailing Linder, shooting video of him.” “But how did you discover she’d videotaped you killing Schomus?” “She was squeamish. It didn’t take much to get her to talk,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Enough of this chitchat. You’re wasting my time.” “You’ll never get away with killing us.” Mendoza smirked. “Right. And if that was true this place would be crawling with cops. No, I think not. But I might let you live if you get me that video.”
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The voice in Andy’s ears urged him back a few feet further. “You let us go first. Then I’ll hand over the video.” Mendoza’s eyebrows rose. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring it here. Take the girl.” He motioned for his men to take them. The two men stepped past their boss toward Andy and Kristin. Through the earpiece, Andy heard what he’d been waiting for: Target sighted. Lifting his hand as if in surrender, he closed a fist to signal he was ready. In one swift motion, he grabbed Kristin and pushed her to the ground, throwing himself over her as a shield while the world exploded around them.
Chapter Twenty Kristin screamed until her lungs hurt. The sound of gunfire filled her head and terror ripped away any hope of survival. Terrified that Andy had been shot, she twisted on the ground, trying to get out from under him in a vain attempt to protect him. But his hard, heavy body pinned her flat. “Stay still,” he ordered into her ear. The welcome sound of his voice made a sob catch in her throat. Then he pushed off her, pulling her to her feet. Men wearing flack vests and carrying big weapons swarmed the room, surrounding the men on the floor. Mendoza and his two men lay on the ground, injured. Blood stained their clothing and seeped onto the cement floor. Mendoza cursed loudly while his comrades moaned and pleaded for help. A mixture of relief and shock made her knees weak and the world a bit fuzzy. “Let’s get out of here,” Andy said. Feeling safe with Andy’s arm around her, guiding her, she allowed him to hustle her away from the chaos. Once outside she breathed deeply, taking the fresh air into her lungs and chasing away the horror of the past few hours. As adrenaline left her body, she began to shake as if she’d been stuck in a deep freeze, even though the late summer air was hot and humid. Andy’s arms came around her, pulling her close to his chest. She melted into the comfort of his arms. The hard vest beneath his suit coat jolted her back to reality. She pushed away. “What were you thinking?” she demanded as residual fear rose. “You could have been killed.” He stared at her a moment with an incredulous gleam in his midnight eyes, before a slow grin spread across his face. “You were the one in danger.” “But you shouldn’t have come in there alone. You put your life at unnecessary risk,” she stated hotly, thinking of how terribly wrong his stunt could have gone. The very thought made her want to throw up. Reaching out to tuck some loose hair behind her ear, he said, “Honey, risk is part of the job. There’s risk in just walking across a New York City street.” He brushed her lips with his index finger. “But today I wasn’t doing my job. I was protecting the woman I love.” Stunned speechless, she could only stare at him.
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He cupped her face in his hands. “I’m never letting you go, Kristin Conrad. I will protect you until the day I die because I know that God will be watching over us.” Humility and gratefulness spread over her like warm butter. The horror of being kidnapped had been worth the price to bring some healing to Andy’s wounded soul. Not to mention her own. After the terror of the last couple of days, she realized she could never maker her life totally safe and predictable. She had to trust that God would watch over them and together they’d have the security and peace that only came from above. With a sigh of pure bliss, she surrendered to the joy cascading through her veins. Rising on tiptoe, she moved in closer to whisper, “I can’t imagine my life without you.” And then she kissed him, showing him all the love in her heart.
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Based on a True Story by Brenda Janowitz Gorgeous fiancé? Check. Totally in love? Check. Hair more-or-less frizz-free? Check. Ready to meet the exboyfriend and his new movie-star wife for dinner? With this hair? God, no. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I need to prove something to Trip. Or to his twig—I mean, wife. It's just that I have my dignity to protect. And the things I've done for my dignity…which may or may not include bringing a fake fiancé with a fake Scottish accent and a kilt to Trip's wedding. But Trip doesn't know any of that. Will never know that. I pulled off the charade and now my life is perfect. What? He's making a movie? About a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend's wedding? Starring his beautiful celebrity wife? And they need my help to make it accurate? Why would that be a problem? I've nothing to hide…. I'm totally screwed.
Chapter One You know that feeling you get when everything seems to be right with the world? When the planets seem to be aligned? One of those days when you're actually running on time, your apartment is (relatively) clean and you haven't gotten into an argument with your mother/best friend/boss/therapist in at least a week? That's exactly how I feel today. And why not? Last spring, I survived my ex-boyfriend's wedding with my dignity ever-so-slightly intact, and now I'm engaged to a man I love and working at a job that I don't hate. Which, as a lawyer in New York City is really the most you can hope for. Well, okay, so maybe going to my ex-boyfriend's wedding wasn't really as easy as I'm making it sound. But the fact that me and my dignity survived at all is a miracle in itself. You see, mere days before the wedding, my gorgeous Scottish boyfriend, Douglas, broke up with me and announced that he was getting engaged to someone else. Devastating, right? But I didn't panic (much)—I had a plan—I simply took my friend Jack as my date instead. Okay, okay, it was more like I forced my friend Jack to pretend to be Douglas, thus helping me to keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact for the whole of Trip's wedding, but it was really just a harmless little lie, you know? Who would ever be the wiser? Certainly not my ex, Trip, and definitely not my more recent ex, Douglas. Wow, I have so many ex-boyfriends that I'm even confusing myself…. And Jack was such a good friend that he really didn't mind one bit. Not even a little. Anyway, how hard could it be to pretend to be Douglas? So he's obsessively Scottish and was planning to wear a kilt to the wedding. And so what if I had already warned Trip of that in advance (hey, if you were going to your ex's wedding, you'd play up the hunky Scottish boyfriend in a kilt, too). So the little charade took slightly more than a name change. But it couldn't be that difficult for Jack to don a kilt and a fake accent, right? Turns out it wasn't easy—but Jack made it look easy. We went to Trip's wedding, pulled off the charade, had a great time and then, as an added bonus, fell madly in love. And now we are a bona fide couple, on our way towards marching down the aisle ourselves. See, sometimes the cliché is right—every cloud does have a silver lining. Which is why this morning, I didn't have a care in world about what I would wear for dinner tonight. Even though it's a dinner with Trip, my ex-boyfriend. And his beautiful movie-star wife, Ava Huang. Yes, that Ava Huang. The perfect Hollywood "It" girl, Ava Huang. Who has an Academy Award nomination. And a royal title.
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It's not like I'm jealous or anything. I mean, what's to be jealous of? My fiancé, Jack, recently made partner at a large law firm in Manhattan. In many ways, I think that's harder to do than to get an Oscar nomination. To get her nomination, all Ava had to do was play an autistic transvestite who was sexually abused as a child and grew up to cure cancer. And everyone knows that when a gorgeous actress does a role where she gets to look ugly she gets an Oscar nod. Whereas Jack had to work twelve to fourteen hour days for nine years before they even considered him for partner. And, I mean, to be born royal, you only have to…well…be born, so working your butt off to make partner for years is certainly more impressive than that. So there was no reason to give a second thought to what I'd wear to dinner with my ex and his movie-star wife tonight. I mean, I'm engaged now, so what does it really matter what I'm wearing? Soon, I'll be a married woman myself and I'll be much too busy being the normal well-adjusted wife that I am to worry about the little insecurities that I entertained when I was single. I mean, when you're an engaged woman, does it really matter what you wear for a weeknight after-work dinner? What do you have to prove, really? This is just like any other casual dinner with friends. Even if one is an ex-boyfriend and the other is his Oscar-nominated wife. In fact, I specifically didn't think twice about what I would wear tonight because I'm so above such petty jealousies. And now, as I sit here at my desk, mere hours away from tonight's dinner, only one thing pops into my mind: WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING? Clearly this morning I was delusional. I'm having dinner with a MOVIE STAR, for the love of God! I must go home immediately and change.
From: "Brooke Miller" To: "Jack Solomon" Subject: Re: tonight running home to change before dinner. want to look cute for you! pick me up at the apartment instead of the office tonight? love you. Brooke Miller Sent from my wireless handheld I race out of my office and hop into a taxi cab. As I give the driver my address, my BlackBerry begins to buzz.
From: "Jack Solomon" To: "Brooke Miller" Subject: Re: Re: tonight
Love you, too. Jack Solomon Gilson, Hecht and Trattner 425 Park Avenue 11th Floor New York, New York 10022 *****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE***** The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise
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distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance. I can barely contain my smile as the cab lurches uptown and we arrive at my apartment building. I just know that the second Jack picks me up in a cab he'll flash his baby blue eyes at me and say, "I am the luckiest man in the world. Never leave me, Brooke, for without you, I would surely die," or something as equally heartfelt and romantic. I rush up to my apartment, turn on my mp3 player and march into the bathroom. That's it—freshening up with a little "getting ready" music will put me in a good mood. The radio begins to blast an old Madonna song from the 80s and I dance around the bathroom, mood lightening. After all, when Madonna tells you to "get up and dance and sing," you listen. Throwing my head upside down, I give it a few good shakes. Flipping my hair back and standing upright, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Ever since I cut eight and a half inches off of my signature locks, I've also taken to wearing my hair with more of its natural curl in it. This past summer, I even let it dry naturally on days that I wasn't appearing in court (for those days, I resorted to my old tried-and-true classic bun), and with the Indian Summer we are having this September, I'm still doing the same. I pull out the bathroom mirrors so that I can see myself in 3-D. I look okay, I tell myself.I look fine. After all, it's just a casual dinner at a local French restaurant with some friends. One of whom is my ex-boyfriend. Who just happens to be married to one of the biggest movie stars in the world— What if the paparazzi is there? I wouldn't want to embarrass my friends and family by being photographed with frizzy hair. I really am a very considerate girl. I must go get my hair blown out. Letting my hair dry naturally and frizz ever so slightly is okay for an evening at home with my fiancé who already gave me a ring and asked my father for permission and all that—he's already stuck with me—but it just won't cut it for dinner at Pastis with a real, live movie star. And anyway, it's really not all that uncommon to get your hair professionally done. I heard once that Marilyn Monroe used to wash and set her hair up to three times a day when she was on a movie set. I mean, if Marilyn Monroe in her heyday had to constantly wash and set her hair, what hope do we normal gals have, anyway? Oh please! As if you wouldn't get your hair washed and blown out if you were going out to dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his movie-star wife!
From: "Brooke Miller" To: "Jack Solomon" <
[email protected] > Subject: Re: Re: Re: tonight
on second thought, why don't you pick me up at the cheap hair place on the corner of lex and 62nd? i want to get gorgeous for you…. Brooke Miller Sent from my wireless handheld
From: "Jack Solomon" <
[email protected] > To: "Brooke Miller" Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: tonight
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of course you do. Jack Solomon Gilson, Hecht and Trattner 425 Park Avenue 11th Floor New York, New York 10022
*****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE***** The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance. Perfect! I have just enough time to change into my newest little black dress, get to the hair place and get my hair washed and blown out straight. And maybe if there's time I can get a manicure. And have my make-up done, too. But only if there's time. What? I wouldn't want to keep the paparazzi waiting.
Chapter Two “You had your make-up done, too?” my fiancé, Jack, asks as I slide into the Town Car. “How much did getting ready for this dinner set you back?” “I just wanted to look beautiful for you,” I say, giving him a peck on the lips. “Well,” he says, “I’m just glad to see that this has nothing to do with the fact that we’re having dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his movie-star wife.” “No,” I say, laughing, “of course not!” “Yes,” he says, putting his hand on my leg, “of course.” Fifteen minutes later, we’re down in the Meatpacking District, pulling up to Pastis. Ah, Pastis—a restaurant which would be considered a casual French bistro if it was not for the fact that it is a huge celebrity hangout and has a three month waiting list for a reservation. The second my foot hits the cobblestone street, I hear my ex-boyfriend, Trip, call out my name. He and his wife, Ava, are already ensconced at one of the outside tables. Getting a reservation at Pastis is hard enough, but getting an outside table is nearly impossible. Of course, within the first five minutes of conversation, Trip drops the fact that this is their regular table. You know those celebrities who go out to restaurants at odd hours and take tables in the corner, facing inside, desperate not to be seen or recognized? Trip and Ava are not those kind of celebrities. “So, I said to DiCaprio,” Trip says, making no effort at all to lower his voice, reveling in the fact that this causes all of the nearby tables to turn and look at him, “if you don’t do it, you’re insane!” To which he and Ava laugh hysterically and Jack and I merely smile politely. Eating with Trip and Ava is incredibly difficult. Every so often, you see the flash of a bulb go off and you just know that a papparrazo somewhere out there has just taken your picture. You feel the constant glare of camera phones on you as you try to take a bite of your steak sandwich. I’m desperately trying to eat in an attractive way, which is no easy feat, I assure you. I guess this is why Ava is so thin.
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“That crazy DiCaprio,” Jack says in a Scottish accent. Okay, so you remember the funny story about Trip’s wedding? Just your typical girl-gets-invited-to-her-exboyfriend’s-wedding-only-to-be-broken-up-with-by-her-awful-cad-of-a-Scottish-boyfriend-mere-minutesbefore-the-wedding-forcing-girl-to-drag-her-best-friend-Jack-in-his-place-and-make-him-wear-a-kilt-andspeak-with-a-Scottish-accent-in-a-desperate-attempt-to-keep-her-dignity-ever-so-slightly-intact sort of story. Well, Trip kinda, sorta still doesn’t know that Jack was posing as Douglas. So they still think Jack is Douglas. Which means he still has to fake the accent. And I have to pretend that that day was perfectly normal, that I was just like any other woman who goes to her ex’s wedding. Okay, so I understand that most women don’t get invited to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings. And I realize that most women don’t RSVP “yes” to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings because they are dating gorgeous hunky Scotsmen and they want to show up to their exes. And, okay, most women, when then broken up with by their hunky Scotsmen, don’t recruit their friends to take his place and pretend to be him. And pretend to be engaged to said faux-Scotsman. But, then again, I’m not most girls. And therein lies my charm. I think. I’m pretty sure Jack told me that once. Or at least I think he did. Didn’t he? Anyway, the point is, I’m not most girls. And Jack, luckily for me, is not most guys. And I’m lucky that he’s not. Since going to Trip’s wedding as a fake couple, Jack and I have actually become a real couple. Which was an easy transition since we were the best of friends before the wedding. It just took a trip to LA and seeing Jack in a kilt for me to realize that he was the one for me. And now that I have, I have no intention of ever going back to being just friends again. Because Jack is amazing. As evidenced by the fact that he’s dressed up as a Scotsman once again, phony accent and all, just to save my pride. And he even remembered to bring me the fake engagement ring I wore to Trip’s wedding, which I swapped out for my real one when Jack picked me up in the cab. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How can she go on like this? It’s easy, really. You see, I don’t plan to see Trip and Ava ever again after tonight. And, I’m sure, after having to feign a Scottish accent for an entire evening, by tomorrow, Jack will be of a similar mind. Maybe even later tonight. We’re only here in the first place to be polite (that, and the fact that I was unsuccessful in dodging Trip’s calls. He had his assistant call me seven times. Yes, seven! I wonder how many times he had to call Leo to get him on the phone…). Trip’s assistant assured me that there was something that Trip just had to tell me. And I just had to know what it was. Trip and I always had a very competitive relationship, even back when we were an item in law school, but now I can’t imagine there’s much left for him to say to me. Still, curiosity got the best of me. But, really, what could he possibly be here to announce? I mean, he’s won, hasn’t he? He was married first and to an Oscar-nominated star, at that. It’s really not much of a contest. I get it. Why am I at this dinner again? “So, did he say yes?” I ask. I don’t want to ask, but Trip so clearly wants me to ask more about his silly little Leonardo DiCaprio story. The man is so starved for attention. Trip, I mean. Not Leonardo DiCaprio. I’ve never met Leonardo DiCaprio, but I’m sure that he’s very well adjusted and nice. Although he was a child star (who didn’t love him on Growing Pains?!), so maybe he’s not as nice as he seems, even though he does feel passionate about the environment. But I digress…. “As a matter of fact, Brooke,” he said, “he did. Leo’s going to be starring in Ava’s next picture.” It drives me insane that Trip calls movies “pictures” as if he’s Orson Welles or something. He’s not even her director. He’s just her agent. Isn’t there some sort of confidentiality thing he’s violating here? Note to self: write a note to the bar association to determine confidentiality implications of an agent being romantically involved with the actress he’s representing. “Great,” Jack says, “Jolly good.” I don’t think that Scots say things like “jolly good,” but I let it slide since Jack’s being so great by pretending to be a Scotsman on a weeknight. Anyway, the industry talk is probably the only saving grace for Jack this
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evening. Jack always wanted to be an actor but never really made a go of it. He’s like a lot of litigators— frustrated thespians who use their dramatic flair in the courtroom instead of on the stage. “And Ava will be playing the lead,” Trip continues, as the waiter begins clearing out plates. I say a tiny prayer that Trip and Ava won’t want to order dessert and that Jack and I can get out of here. “DiCaprio will be the ex-boyfriend whose wedding Ava attends.” Suddenly, time begins moving in slow motion. “Excuse me?” I ask. Surely, I must have misheard Trip. “Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Trip asks, a tiny smirk creeping onto his lips. “The picture is about a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.” This story is beginning to sound alarmingly familiar. “Let me get this straight,” I say, “Ava’s next movie is about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding?” “Yeah,” Trip says with a laugh. “You inspired me to write it!” “You wrote it?” I ask. Back in law school Trip couldn’t write to save his life. Or his GPA. “Well,” he says, “I’m in the process of writing it. But we already have a deal in place. And now, we’ve got our stars attached!” “Who’s going to play Jack?” Jack asks, Scottish accent all but gone. “Who’s Jack?” Trip asks. “Douglas,” I say, correcting Jack. “He means Douglas. Who’s going to play Douglas?” “It’s hard to find someone who can do a convincing Scottish accent,” Ava says. “That’s the real obstacle we’re having now.” “You really just need someone who can fake a Scottish accent,” Jack offers and I grab at his knee under the table. Unfortunately for me, this does not have the intended effect. He thinks I’m flirting, and so he grabs at my waist. Sometimes it’s a real curse to be so darned irresistible. “Is the point of this dinner to ask me if you can make a movie about me?” I ask. “Because you can’t. I mean, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that.” After all, I know my rights. And the second I get home, I will log onto my computer to find out just exactly what they are. “I don’t have to ask your permission to write a movie about you,” Trip says. “Remember, I went to law school, too, and so I know that I don’t have to ask your permission for this. You’re not famous.” Thank you, Trip, for reminding me of that very, very obvious fact. “Well, how do you know I won’t sue you?” I ask. “You’re not going to sue me,” he says, laughing at the mere thought of it, “but anyway, even if you do, the studio has a team of lawyers.” “Well, that’s good to know,” I say. “Because it sounds like you could have a lawsuit or two on your hands.”
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“Well, I thank you for your concern, Brooke,” Trip says. “But what I’d really love to do is to interview you. Get some more background information for the script. Whaddya say? For old times sake?” “Um,” I eek out. “No, thank you.” And really, I don’t want to do it. And it’s not just because Trip is my ex-boyfriend. And it’s not just because Trip doesn’t know the whole story behind my attendance at his wedding. Actually, those are pretty good reasons in of themselves, aren’t they? Yes, they definitely are…. But, more importantly, it’s because he’s writing a movie about my life. And not about the good parts, either. I’m sure he doesn’t have a scene about all of the charity work I do here in the city. Well, okay, fine, I don’t have a ton of time for charity since I work fourteen hour days regularly, but I do attend my fair share of blacktie charity events, so that should count. Or, say, he could write a scene about the time I helped that blind lady cross Lexington that day at lunch. That would be nice. But I just know that that’s not the kind of movie he’ll be writing. No, he’s going to be writing a movie about a sad single girl in New York City. Instead of scenes that showcase her fabulousness, he’ll be writing scenes where she obsesses endlessly about going to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Instead of scenes that show how hard she works at her big-time law firm, there will be scenes where she does silly thing after silly thing in a fruitless attempt to keep her dignity ever-so-slightly intact, and instead ends up looking like a fool. No, thank you! And, also, when I think about what I spent this evening on hair and make-up alone, I just cannot afford having to see Trip on a day-to-day basis. Case closed. I don’t really know what’s said for the rest of the dinner. It barely registers who paid the bill or if we even paid the bill at all. I’m in a daze for the rest of the time and all I can think is: my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about me. Jack shuttles me into a cab and I open the window to get a gust of cool air as we head uptown. “So,” Jack says, turning to face me, “do you think they’ll offer me a part?”
Chapter Three “Wow,” my best friend Vanessa says. “I know.” “Wow.” “I know,” I repeat. “Wow.” “Okay, you’re going to need to say something other than ‘wow.’” “I can’t think of anything else to say,” she says, and sinks into her chair. We’re at Bernard’s Gourmet on Third Avenue for lunch. I needed to convene a special counsel to discuss the fact that my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about my life. And that it’s starring his gorgeous movie-star wife. You’d really think that a big-time Hollywood agent and his movie-star wife would have better things to do with their time than to ruin my life. But, no.
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“Maybe I should be flattered,” I say, taking a bite of my Cobb salad. “I mean, clearly, my life is so interesting that Trip thinks the entire movie-going public of America wants to know about it.” “Don’t forget Europe,” Vanessa says. “American movies play overseas, too.” She takes a bite out of her hamburger and I silently curse her for the fact that she can eat whatever she wants and I gain weight if I even look at a hamburger. Maybe this is owing to the fact that she’s five-foot eight and a marathon runner who religiously runs six miles a day—but still. And more important than the fact that she’s thin, she’s so gorgeous that if her ex-boyfriend made a movie about her life, they’d probably be asking her if she’d consider playing herself. Yes, Vanessa is tall and gorgeous and thin. I have no idea why I’m friends with her. “And Asia,” she adds. “Don’t forget about Asia.” “Okay, I won’t. So, my ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of the single most humiliating moment of my life,” I say. “No big deal, right? I’m sure that this is the sort of thing that happens to lots of women out there every day.” “I’m sure it happens all the time,” she says. I can tell she’s lying by the way she self-consciously smoothes her hand over her short hair, but I don’t care. It still makes me feel better. “And being friendly with an ex really isn’t that big of a deal, is it?” I ask, taking a bite of my salad, only allowing myself the tiniest bit of dressing. I mean, so what?” “So what, indeed,” she says and dips one of her French fries into the ketchup. “I mean, so what if my ex decides to take the most embarrassing moment of my life and turn it into a major motion picture starring his new wife?” I say, taking another bite of salad, this time abandoning the dressing altogether. “And so what if said new wife has to gain twenty pounds just to play me? I mean, so what?” “So what!” Vanessa says, slamming her fist down on the table, and I can practically hear a choir rising up in the background. “Just because I’m not married and I’m not royalty and I’m not an Academy Award nominated actress, I’m still fabulous anyway, right?” Oh please. As if you wouldn’t be fishing for compliments the day after you found out that your ex-boyfriend was making a movie out of your life. “Fabulous enough for them to make a movie all about you and your crazy adventures,” Vanessa says, motioning to the waiter for refills on our diet iced teas. “Yes,” I say. “That’s right. I’m fabulous.” I smile at Vanessa. Sometimes I forget just how truly fabulous I am. “Did you convince yourself on that one?” she asks. “No,” I say, looking down at my Cobb salad and then scooping up a forkful of bacon. I silently decide that you don’t have to stay on your diet on the day after you find out your ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of how pathetic your life is. “Did I convince you?” “Nope,” she says, and goes back to her fries. “But one good thing to come out of this is the fact that Trip knows everything about you going to his wedding. It’s all out in the open, so you don’t have to hide any secrets anymore.”
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The secret. I’d nearly forgotten about that. You’d think that once your ex is making a movie about your life, it can’t get worse. But you’d be wrong. “Right,” I say, grabbing at a stray napkin that’s on the table. I tear it into two pieces and then into four. Vanessa regards me. “Oh, no,” she says. “What?” I ask, tearing the napkin in my hand into eight pieces. “So, he doesn’t know?” she asks and I keep my eyes firmly planted on the floor. “You haven’t told him that you actually brought a fake date to his wedding?” “About that…” “That Douglas broke up with you on the eve of his wedding so you brought Jack instead and made him wear a kilt and speak with a Scottish accent?” “I was there,” I say, “you don’t have to remind me what happened.” “But Trip doesn’t know any of that?” she asks, staring at me with such intensity that I can feel her eyes burning into my head. “No idea,” I say, without bringing my eyes up to meet Vanessa’s. “Then what the hell is the movie about?” “A girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding,” I say, taking a sip of my iced tea. “Apparently, that’s interesting enough in of itself to turn into a movie. You don’t even need the fake kilt part.” “Brooke,” she says, employing the same tone she’d use in speaking to a small child. “Well, I don’t see why I should have to say anything,” I say, scooping more bacon onto my fork and dipping it into the dressing. Then I take another bite and pile bacon onto blue cheese and dip that into the dressing. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t tell Trip,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Um, is she kidding me?! “You don’t see why I wouldn’t?” I cry out, my voice an octave higher than I intend it to be. “Well, for starters, it makes me look like a huge loser—” “But you have Jack now,” Vanessa says, cutting me off. “Nothing matters anymore now that you have Jack. He’s what’s important. Not some silly semblance of your pride that you’re trying to protect.” She’s right. When I think about Jack and how lucky I am to have finally found love, I can’t help but feel silly that I’m still obsessing over the fact that my ex got married before me. The first thing that I’m going to do tomorrow is to call Trip and tell him everything. That Douglas broke up with me right before his wedding so I brought Jack instead. And that in order to keep my dignity ever-soslightly intact, I made Jack pretend to be Douglas, which meant that he had to don a kilt and a fake Scottish accent and I had to wear a fake engagement ring. But none of that matters anymore since Jack and I are together for real and it’s wonderful and it’s everything I always wanted but never realized was right in front of me because I was too busy thinking that all the wrong things were important. But now I’ve got my head screwed on straight, and I’m engaged to an amazing guy. I will call Trip immediately and tell him all of these things.
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But first, I’m going to steal some of Vanessa’s French fries and order myself a hamburger.
Chapter Four "Well, this is unexpected," I say, as Trip saunters into my office. I think, but don't say: and unwelcome. First, I silently curse Trip for showing up unannounced. Then I silently curse my assistant for not announcing that he'd arrived. You see, today's the day I'm supposed to be coming clean to Trip about the fact that I brought a fake date to his wedding—the wedding that he's making a major motion picture about—but he's shown up unexpectedly and I'm not really mentally prepared to tell him the truth just yet. Maybe I should ask him to come back on a day where I've had time to go to the spa to get a massage, manicure and pedicure? Maybe even a facial. Or even a scrub. Yes, I'm sure a scrub would do the trick. Surely then I'd be more relaxed and prepared to admit the fact that I was too embarrassed to tell him that Douglas broke up with me on the eve of his wedding, so I made Jack dress up as a Scotsman and pretend to be Douglas? But I ask you: is there ever a good time to tell your ex-boyfriend that your man broke up with you on the eve of his wedding so you made your best friend dress up as him and come with you? Wine. I was going to need some wine before I do this. "Is now a good time?" Trip asks, settling into one of my leather visitor chairs, his stance indicating that he didn't actually care whether or not it was, in fact, a good time for me. I slip off my real engagement ring and reach into my pocketbook to try to find the fake ring I wore to Trip's wedding. "I thought we could bat around some ideas for the screenplay." The fake ring is nowhere to be found. I decide to forgo wearing any ring at all. After all, no ring would be better than wearing a ring he's never seen before, right? Although wouldn't it be great if you could have more than one engagement ring and then just wear whichever one matched your mood? Maybe I could get that started as a trend…. Focus, Brooke! "You mean the screenplay you're writing about my life," I say, looking him dead in the eyes. "I mean the screenplay about my wedding and how I invited my ex-girlfriend," he says, returning my gaze. "See, Brooke, it's really my story to tell." "Isn't Ava the star of the movie, not Leo?" "Well, yes," he says, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his jacket. "So, then, it's really her story to tell," I say, folding my arms across my chest. "It's the ex-girlfriend's story." I couldn't help but smile at my little victory. I always was a better litigator than Trip. "Look, Brooke. I just need something more to really make the story solid," Trip says. "So, help me out, would you? It'll be just like in law school when we used to collaborate together all the time." What he means to say is: it'll be just like law school, when we were dating, so I made you do all the work for me. Only his charm has worn off now, and the only thing I'll be helping him to do is to leave my office. "Where's your engagement ring?" he asks, doing a half-stand out of his chair to get a closer look at my hand. Which has the effect of making me immediately cover my left hand with the right. "Oh," I say. "That. Yes, well. It's at the cleaners. I mean, the ring cleaners. You know, the jewelers. You know what I mean. Since when are you so interested in jewelry?"
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Must get the ex-boyfriend out of my office, stat! He shakes his head and settles back into the chair. "So, were there any other complications in being an unmarried girl going to your ex-boyfriend's wedding? Anything else you haven't told me?" "No," I say, with a clipped tone, turning to my computer. I begin to check my e-mail, hoping that he'll think that I'm too busy to talk to him and just leave. An e-mail pops up on my screen:
From: "Vanessa Taylor" To: "Brooke Miller" Subject: Do it!
Did you fess up to Trip yet??? Vanessa Taylor Gilson, Hecht and Trattner 425 Park Avenue 11th Floor New York, New York 10022 *****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE***** The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance. That girl's timing is uncanny. I look over to Trip, sitting in my visitor's chair like a sad little puppy, his pad out, ready to jot down any words of wisdom I may spew out. "I just feel like I'm missing something here," Trip says, tapping his pen against the side of the pad. "What the script really needs is something to bring it all together. It needs more comedy. More of a love story." "How's this," I say, throwing him a bone. "I did lose my luggage at LAX when we flew in for your wedding. I didn't have a dress to wear, so we had to spend the whole day shopping for a replacement. Use that." "Right on, right on," Trip says. Even though he's originally from Connecticut, he certainly has adapted to being a left-coaster. If he says "bitchin" I'm kicking him out of my office. "Okay, so great," I say, standing up. "If I think of anything else, I'll call you!" Trip stays planted in his seat. "I'm sorry," he says. "I don't mean to be bugging you. It's just that there is so much pressure on me to make this thing great. It just needs a little oomph. Something to make it stand out from all of those other romantic comedies out there. This means a lot to me. And to Ava." And just like that, I begin to soften. I was so busy trying to one-up Trip that I forgot that there are things that I actually like about him. His determination. His stick-to-it-ness. For a moment, I remember how devoted he could be to something he believed in. Which is probably what makes him such a great agent. Seeing him work so hard at something really makes me feel like I want to help.
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And I could help—by telling him the truth. And it will make me a better person, someone who appreciates what she has and doesn't hold on to some ridiculous charade in order to one-up her ex. I am better than that, and I can prove it. I can be mature. I'll just tell him. Right now. But just as I am about to tell him the truth, the thing that will make his movie truly great and prove that I am a self-confident woman who doesn't care what anyone else thinks, he says: "That's it. I just figured it out."
"What?" I ask, curious to hear what fabulous plot point he's come up with. See, Trip was right— collaborating can be fun! "Why you're not wearing your ring," he says. "That's it. I've figured it out." "Figured what out?" I say back very quickly, suddenly squirming in my office chair. This will be so much more embarrassing if he's figured out what I've done before I get to fess up to him and maintain at least one tiny shred of dignity. "You're pregnant!" he says, jumping up from his chair and running around my desk to give me a hug. "That's why you're not wearing your ring! I knew you looked a bit bloated today. But, you're pregnant, aren't you? Aren't you?! You can tell me." Note to self: Must go home immediately and burn this entire outfit. And then murder my ex-boyfriend. "I. Am. Not. Pregnant." "Oh, man," he says, arms falling down to his sides as he releases his grip on me. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes," I say. "I'm sure. Not pregnant, just bloated." "I don't know what to say, Brooke." And with that, those old feelings are gone. "Get out," I say, and Trip finally leaves my office.
Chapter Five “What’s great about this film is that I don’t have to lose weight for the part,” Ava says to Rachel Star of Entertainment Now. “In fact, they’re encouraging me to gain more!” Rachel Star nods back knowingly. I can just picture the two of them out to dinner now—I can have even more edamame?! And I can actually leave the rice on my sushi rolls?! Oh, happy day! “Now, that sounds like my kind of shoot!” Lara says and she and Ava break out in giggles. My ex-boyfriend’s wife is on Entertainment Now to talk about the new movie she’s starring in. That my exboyfriend wrote. About my life. Yes, my ex-boyfriend has taken the single most humiliating moment of my life—attending his wedding—and is turning it into a major motion picture, set for release next summer. You can catch it when it comes out on the big screen, but please just do me a favor and don’t tell me if you go. Oh, please. As if you’re not dying to go and see it now that I’ve told you all about it.
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I roll my eyes at my best friend, Vanessa. She rolls back and takes a handful of popcorn. We both rushed home from work tonight to watch Ava’s appearance together. We’re at Vanessa’s apartment in comfy sweatpants, with a huge bowl of popcorn between us and a pitcher of margaritas to help wash it down. The pain, that is. Not the popcorn. (But it works on the popcorn, too.) “Obviously they’re not talking about you,” Vanessa says. “They probably just want Ava to look more like a real woman. Not the stick figure that she is.” Since Vanessa is a bit of a stick figure herself, this is not exactly a compelling argument from her. But Vanessa’s right. It’s not actually all about me, since Trip doesn’t know the whole story involved with my coming to his wedding. He thinks it’s just your normal girl-goes-to-her-ex-boyfriend’s-wedding kind of situation. Thankfully, he doesn’t know about the part where Douglas broke up with me mere minutes before the wedding, forcing me to drag my friend Jack—complete with the kilt and faux accent—in his place. I even wore a fake engagement ring to really sell it. “Thanks,” I say to Vanessa and we both look at the television. I take a big swig of my margarita. Maybe we should have cut to the chase and just had shots of tequila before watching this? “So,” Rachel says, putting on a serious expression, “tell us more about the film.” “Well,” Ava says. “It’s the story of a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.” “Wow,” Rachel says, “that sure sounds like quite a story!” “It is, Rachel,” Ava says, leaning in to Rachel as if they’re sorority sisters or something. “It is. And lots of single women everywhere can relate to it.” “I don’t know about that,” Rachel says with a laugh. “You couldn’t pay me enough to go to an ex’s wedding.” “It’s going to be a funny movie,” Ava says. “I can personally guarantee lots of laughs. And maybe even a tear or two.” “They’re going to be lining up in droves to see this movie!” Rachel says. And she’s probably right. Why couldn’t they be making a small art house film about my life that no one would ever see? Why must it be the movie that’s slated to be the biggest blockbuster of the summer? Why, oh why, must my life be so darned interesting that a major motion picture studio has green lighted a production about it? “Is it a concern,” Rachel says, putting a grave expression onto her face, “that people won’t think that the story is believable? I mean, what woman in her right mind would actually go to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding?” “That’s the great thing, Rachel,” Ava says, eyes sparkling, clearly ready for this question to have been asked. “It really did happen! To my husband’s ex-girlfriend.” “You mean to tell me that your husband’s ex-girlfriend actually came to your wedding?” Rachel says and gives the camera a look of shock. Oh, please. As if this whole interview wasn’t pre-rehearsed. Who does she think she’s kidding? “Yes!” Ava says. “She’s actually an attorney right here in Manhattan. And she’s very nice.” “Nice or not, I can’t believe you let one of your husband’s exes come to your wedding!” Rachel says, still doing the shocked expression thing. I mean, doesn’t Rachel have any other expressions in her arsenal? What does she do when she interviews someone who actually reveals shocking things? I guess this is why they pre-record all of their shows.
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Ava nods in response. Yes, I am so wonderful that I allowed my husband’s ex to come to our wedding. I also do all sorts of other types of charity work. “They’re making me sound like a stalker,” I say to Vanessa and she shhhes me. I finish my margarita and lean over to the pitcher to re-fill my glass. “But,” Rachel quickly says, “it’s not as if a woman like you has to worry about any sort of competition. What man would ever choose another woman over you?” “Oh, God,” I say, “is that what everyone’s going to be saying at the premiere? Why would he want to be with her when he could be with Ava?” “Oh, don’t be silly, sweetie,” Vanessa says, looking at me. “We’re not going to be invited to the premiere.” On the TV, Ava continues. “My husband, Trip, was so inspired by the story of his ex coming to the wedding that he decided that it would make a great movie.” That Ava doesn’t answer Rachel’s question and begins posturing makes me think that maybe Trip gave her a script for this interview. “She came with her gorgeous Scottish fiancé, so everything worked out in the end. It’s a story about love and friendship. And life’s special moments.” “This is beginning to sound like a tampon commercial,” Vanessa says, taking a ladylike sip of her margarita. She’s still on her first of the night. I’m already pouring number three. “This is so humiliating,” I say, “I can never leave my apartment again.” “No one’s even going to see the stupid movie,” Vanessa says, “don’t be ridiculous. This whole thing will blow over in minutes.” “Maybe the movie will be bad,” I say. “Maybe no one will see it!” “I’m sure no one will,” she says, and clicks the television off. “And it will be forgotten before you can even say ‘straight to DVD.’” “Really?” I ask. “You really think that?” “Sure,” Vanessa says, filling up my margarita glass, “of course I do.” “I guess I should be looking on the bright side,” I say, taking a handful of popcorn. “My one saving grace is that Douglas hasn’t found out. It’s bad enough that I’ve been humiliated in front of Jack. In fact, this whole thing has actually been a test of how much he truly loves me.” “And he still wants to marry you after all this. He passed,” Vanessa says. “With flying colors.” “True,” I say. “But if Douglas found out about this whole mess… Well, let’s just say that Douglas doesn’t have as good of a sense of humor about things. He would really torture me about this.” “You don’t have to remind me about how awful Douglas was,” Vanessa says. “I remember.” “Well, then, can I remind you about how wonderful Jack is?” “Let’s just make a toast,” Vanessa says, and raises her margarita glass. “To Douglas never finding out about all of this. “Here, here,” I say.
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So, now all I need is for Douglas to never watch Entertainment Now or deign to go see a chick flick. Piece of cake, right?
Chapter Six “Excuse me, miss, but I think I have something for you,” a handsome man says to me just as I’m about to enter my office building. “No, I don’t think so,” I say with a smile. Normally, New Yorkers don’t talk to each other on the street, but I wouldn’t want to be rude. And it’s not just because he’s good looking—I’m not superficial like that. You see, I would speak to a stranger even if he wasn’t attractive. I just so happen to be the exception to that New York rule. Well, okay, I wouldn’t speak to a stranger if he looked like he was deranged or something. I mean, that could be dangerous. But a stranger who was average looking? Yes, I would definitely talk to that stranger. If he was handsome and wearing a great suit and had a really really, really nice smile, well, that would just be a bonus. A big, gorgeous, well-dressed bonus. But I digress. “I’m sure it’s for you,” he insists and I can’t help but laugh, as I continue walking into the building. “Sorry,” I say, pushing through the big double doors of my law firm’s building, “but I’m engaged.” How much do I love saying that?! But how typical is this? The second you’re attached, you’ve got random hotties approaching you in the street. And since you’re already involved, you can’t do a thing about it. When I was single, this sort of thing never happened to me. Life can be so unfair sometimes. “Aren’t you Brooke Miller?” the hottie says to me as he follows me into the building. Did he just call me by my name? Um, how does he know my name?! Okay, so, now I’ve got random hotties stalking me in the street. I’m strangely conflicted about this. “How do you know my name?” I ask, edging my way towards the security desk. In a split second, I formulate a positively brilliant plan for getting away from hottie/stalker, should things go awry. I will simply throw my briefcase at his chest and distract him momentarily so that I can run to the safety of the security guard. I don’t think that the guards are real cops or anything, but they’re still pretty darn imposing. Especially Margie Ann. That woman will put the fear of God into you with just one look. Now, if hottie/stalker actually catches my briefcase instead of getting distracted by it, my plan will be pretty much blown. The whole plan becomes moot when he says: “Yes, I thought it was you. Brooke Miller,” he says, reaching into his briefcase. “You’ve been served.”
*** “I don’t get it,” Trip says, walking into my office unannounced (it’s like there’s just no point in actually having an assistant in the first place). “I thought that Douglas was cool with all of this. He seemed fine when I told him the other night about the movie we were making about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. We had that great dinner all together at Pastis. But now, this.” “You mean the movie you’re making about my life,” I said. “No,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I thought we already established this. It’s my story about getting married and then inviting my ex-girlfriend to come to the wedding.” “You say tomato,” I say, under my breath as I roll my eyes at Trip. Then, in my sensible lawyerly voice, without the eye roll: “I don’t get it, either. Let me give him a call and I’ll call you as soon as I hear back from him.”
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Trip settles into one of my visitor chairs, clearly ready to watch as I make my phone call, which confuses me. If he thinks that I’m about to call my fiancé to ask him why he’s suing me, does he really think that I want my ex-boyfriend here to watch? Trip can be such a moron sometimes. Which reminds me… “Trip, I thought you told me that I couldn’t sue you for making a movie out of my life?” I ask. “Didn’t you get an A in torts?” Trip asks. “I got a C, but I still remembered that a private citizen can sue for their rights of privacy.” “I knew you were wrong!” I said. “I just had too much wine and got confused.” “Or maybe,” he says, “it’s just that you’re not really a better lawyer than me after all.” I think but don’t say: “No. I still am.” “That’s why I took you guys out to Pastis that night,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I had your consent. And Douglas’s, too.” “I never consented to anything,” I say, my hand involuntarily flying up to my chest. “But I thought it was strange that you were hounding me to go out for dinner.” “It was my assistant who called you,” Trip points out. “Whatever,” I say under my breath. “The strange thing here,” Trip says, “is that you’re a named party in this lawsuit, too. Which means that your fiancé has just served you a lawsuit.” “I know,” I say, trying to formulate a reason why my fiancé might be suing me. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the real Douglas wasn’t actually at that dinner. It was Jack. Pretending to be Douglas. “So, why don’t you let me call him?” “Yes,” he says, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “Please do.” “Okay,” I say, nodding my head towards the door. Trip doesn’t take the hint. “Okay, so I’ll call you later after I’ve had a chance to sort all of this out.” Trip nods enthusiastically, still not getting the hint. “So,” I say, “you should leave now.” “Oh, yes,” he says, “of course.” Trip finally leaves my office and I prepare to call “Douglas.” Instead I call Jack. “Ohmigod! Douglas is suing me!” “Who is this?” Jack says. I’m pretty sure I can tell that he’s smiling broadly on the other end of the line. “Can you please be serious for a second?” I say, jumping up from my desk and closing my office door shut with my foot. “I’m being sued!”
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“Well, first of all,” Jack says. “For a lawyer, you don’t react very well to conflict. Or to potential litigation. Where’s the fight in you, Brooke?” “Jack, I am being serious here. What am I going to do? I’ve never been sued before!” “But you’ve been involved in tons of lawsuits before. So you know that most lawsuits end up settling. He must be looking for money. How much is he suing for?” “Two million dollars.” “Jesus Christ,” Jack says letting out a huge sigh. “Um, okay, not helping.” “I can give you a really big discount on my fees if you want me to represent you,” Jack says, still smiling. Okay, I know I can’t see if he’s smiling, but I just know. “Still not helping.” “Well, you’re going to need a lawyer,” Jack says. “Actually, should I be billing you right now?” “Not! Helping!” “Okay,” he says. “Then how’s this: Let me make a few calls and try to find you a lawyer—one who’s not actually involved in this whole thing—and in the meantime, maybe you should go speak to Douglas. Maybe if you tell him what happened, he’ll drop the lawsuit.” “You’ve met Douglas,” I say, “haven’t you? He’s not exactly the kind, understanding type.” “Well,” Jack says, “then the other option would be to go and tell Trip the truth. That you and Douglas broke up on the eve of his wedding so you brought me instead and made me wear a kilt and speak with a Scottish accent in an effort to pretend I was Douglas. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe that would be best. If you explain it to him now, he’ll realize this whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. And ultimately, if you can get him on your side instead of Douglas’s, it’ll make Trip a lot less likely to counter-sue you for making misrepresentations to him. If you and Trip can stay aligned, you have a much better chance of fighting Douglas. Just call Trip.” “Okay,” I say. “Okay, you’re going to talk to Trip? That was easy.” “What?” I ask, beginning to shut my computer down. “Oh, God, no. I’m going to go and yell at Douglas.”
Chapter Seven “Well, this is unexpected,” my ex-boyfriend Douglas says, and he’s right. The last time we saw each other, I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want to marry him and that I never wanted to see him again. So, under normal circumstances, it would be curious that I’m here. But under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have to be here. Up until one day ago, I was one-hundred percent sure that I’d be keeping my promise—I had no intention of ever seeing Douglas again. “How is this unexpected?” I ask through gritted teeth. “You’re suing me!” He doesn’t get up from his desk like he normally would when a lady enters a room. He stays planted behind it, using it as a shield.
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The coward. “You broke up with me and refused to talk to me,” Douglas says matter-of-factly, picking a pen up from his desk and then examining it. He’s calm, cool. Which has the effect of making me even more angry than I was when I marched in. (And, yes, you read that correctly, I didn’t walk in, I marched.) “No, you broke up with me by getting engaged to another woman!” I say, voice rising higher and higher with each word that comes out of my mouth. “It was only after you tried to humiliate me at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding that you even wanted me back.” “That’s not true,” he says. “That’s not true at all. I realized that you were the one and so I came to the wedding as a romantic gesture.” “If only that were true,” I say. “After I said ‘no,’ did you get back together with Beryl?” Yes, Douglas broke up with me and got engaged to a woman named Beryl. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he was cheating on me, or the fact that it was with a woman named Beryl. “Right,” he says. “Right,” I say back. “Right.” “Right,” I say, but then realize I have no idea what we’re even saying “right” to anymore. In fact, I think that he’s saying “right” to something completely different than what I’m saying “right” to. And clearly, you want your “rights” to be right. Right? “Wait? What are we even talking about here? Why are you suing me?!” “Because you’re writing a movie about my life,” he says, hands folded neatly on top of his desk. Then, looking me dead in the eye he says: “What, you didn’t think I’d find out?” And, no, the truth is I didn’t think he’d find out. A tiny little part of me (the very, very stupid and naive part, I’m now figuring out) thought that Trip and his wife could just make their little movie about my life quietly and no one would ever be the wiser. Not Douglas, and certainly not Trip. But the more I think about it, I realize that this is all because of that clip on Entertainment Now. If Ava hadn’t gone on Entertainment Now to announce plans of this film, none of this would have happened! Douglas wouldn’t have found out that my ex-boyfriend was making a movie out of my life and he would never have sued me. This is all Rachel Star’s fault! Damn you, Rachel Star! Why do you have to be so damned perky and report the entertainment news so well?! That’s it—from now on, I am boycotting that show. Yes, from now on, I will only watch Inside Hollywood! But I digress. “I’m not doing anything. How would I write a movie and get it produced? Why would I write a movie? I’m a lawyer,” I say. “It’s Trip. My ex-boyfriend, Trip, is writing the movie as a star vehicle for his wife, Ava. Remember Trip? If you’d just come with me to his wedding last spring, none of this would have ever happened.” “Well,” he says, “according to Entertainment Now, it seems that I did come with you.” “About that—” I start to say, only to be cut off by Douglas. “I knew it! Trip still doesn’t know, does he?” Douglas asks. “He actually thinks that that silly American colleague of yours is me?” Douglas throws his head back and laughs with a deep throaty thunder, as if this concept is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
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Which is ridiculous in of itself. You see, Douglas is laughing because he thinks that Jack is no match to impersonate him—that he, himself, is so fabulous that Jack isn’t fit to shine his shoes, much less pretend to be in them. When in reality, the opposite is true. Jack is the best thing to ever happen to me. Douglas, as it turned out in the end, was the worst. And Jack was my best friend through all of it. Through the fights and the heartbreak, Jack was always there for me. I’m just lucky that after all these years, Jack and I finally ended up together. “Jack,” I say to Douglas. “His name is Jack.” “Well, whatever,” Douglas says, a sly smile creeping onto his lips. “I wonder what Trip will say when he finds out that Jack’s not me?” “If you drop your lawsuit, I promise that I’ll tell Trip,” I say, and Douglas’s sly smile becomes a full-blown grin. “Well, I was hoping to get to court at least one time to see you in one of your cute outfits,” he says. Even though I never figured out exactly what it was that Douglas did for a living, he always found a way to diminish what I did. Cute outfits for court? I’m a big-time lawyer, for God’s sake! Sometimes being so devoted to fashion really has its drawbacks. “I’m leaving,” I say, getting up out of my chair. “Wait,” Douglas says. “Sit down. Are you really going to tell Trip everything?” “Is that what you want? To humiliate me once again? Dumping me mere minutes before my ex-boyfriend’s wedding wasn’t enough for you? Now you want me to confess to my ex that I was so desperate to keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact that I made my best friend dress up and pretend to be you?” “Well, yes, actually,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “That’s exactly what I want.” Hmm… Risk public humiliation at the hands of my ex-boyfriend or face a two-million dollar lawsuit? The sort of quandary single girls everywhere must face on a daily basis. “Fine,” I say, trying to plaster a fake smile onto my face. “If I tell Trip everything and completely humiliate myself, will you then drop the lawsuit?” “Sure, Brooke,” he says, putting his hands behind his head. “Sure I will.” “Shake on it?” I ask, thrusting my hand out for him to shake. “I have a better idea,” Douglas says, and pulls my hand so that my body goes flying across his desk. I fall on top of his desk and try to use my other hand to get back up. “Now, this is more like it,” he says, leaning over me. “This is what I call a negotiation.” “You disgust me,” I say, pulling away and struggling to stand upright. I straighten my suit and spin on my heel. “You’ll come back, Brooke,” Douglas says as I walk out of his office. “You always do.”
Chapter Eight “Trip,” I say to my ex-boyfriend, “we need to talk.” We’re on the set of his latest film. You know—the one that’s starring his movie-star wife and is about a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding? Yes, that’s the one. The one that’s all about my life.
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Long story. “I don’t have time to talk, Brooke,” he says, ever the uber-agent to the stars. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to make a movie here.” “About that,” I say. “There’s something you need to know.” “Oh, no,” Trip says. “Has the screenplay been leaked on the Internet?” “No. Trip, listen to me. It’s about Douglas. Well, not Douglas, but… Okay, let me start over. Douglas—I mean, the person who you think is Douglas—isn’t Douglas. That’s why the real Douglas is suing us.” “What are you talking about, Brooke?” Trip says, putting down his clipboard and giving me his full attention. “Well, there was a Douglas. A Scottish guy I was living with. But we weren’t engaged when I told you we were—in fact, we were never engaged—and he broke up with me just seconds before your wedding. I didn’t know what to do. I had nowhere to live—thank goodness for Vanessa—and my life was turned upside down. You see, I thought that I had to go to your wedding with some gorgeous Scottish guy just to show you up, but now I realize that none of it really mattered.” “But you did bring a Scottish guy to my wedding,” Trip says, furrowing his brow. “You mean to tell me that you were able to find another Scottish guy to come with you to my wedding?” “Right,” I say, “about that. That was Jack, a friend of mine from work. He faked the accent. And the Scottish back story. And we rented the kilt. We even bought a fake engagement ring at a costume shop.” “You’re kidding me, right?” Trip says. “This has got to be a joke.” “It’s not,” I say, wishing that it was, in fact, a joke. “I brought Jack and he pretended to be Douglas. Everything worked out in the end because Jack and I ended up getting together and now we’re engaged for real, but that’s why Douglas is suing us. All of us.” “You’re serious about all this?” Trip says. “Yes,” I say slowly. “And now you know everything.” “Okay,” he says just as slowly. “But, what I don’t understand is why you did it. Why couldn’t you just tell me that you and Douglas broke up? I would have let you bring Jack to the wedding anyway if you wanted to.” “Well, we have always had a competitive relationship,” I say. “No, we didn’t, Brooke,” he says, grabbing my hand. “You could never really compete with me.” “Yes, well, anyway,” I continue, releasing my hand from his grasp. “The point is, I was trying to keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact. I felt humiliated. And I thought that if I showed up alone, I’d be even more humiliated. Do you understand?” “Yes, of course I understand,” Trip says and throws a compassionate arm around my shoulder. “I would never want you to feel humiliated or like a loser.” “Just humiliated,” I say. “I said I’d be humiliated. I didn’t say loser.” “The point is,” Trip says, “you know I love you, Brooke, and I would never do anything to embarrass you or hurt you.”
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“Really?” I say. “That’s so sweet of you.” “Really, Brooke.” “That’s great to hear,” I say. “So, then the movie’s off?” “Oh, hell no,” Trip says and my mouth drops to the ground. “Are you kidding me? I finally have my hook. We’re going to make this thing a hilarious romantic comedy. I’m going to have my people put a call into Sandler.” “What?” “Adam Sandler in a kilt,” Trip says. “Non-stop hilarity!” “You’re still making the movie?” I say. “After everything you just said?” “Of course I am, Brooke.” “But what about not humiliating me?” I ask. “About never doing anything to hurt me?” “Well, Brooke,” Trip says, furrowing his brow as if he’s on an after-school special and is about to tell me the lesson I should have learned. “My grandfather always said that the only person who can embarrass you is you.” “Your grandfather was wrong.” “Now that I know everything,” Trip explains, “the movie finally has what it needs! So, it doesn’t even matter that there’s a massive lawsuit against us. It’s okay, because now I have a killer plot. And since this thing is going to be a huge blockbuster, the production company’s lawyers will even represent you, since you gave us all of this great material.” The lawsuit. I’d totally forgotten. In addition to the fact that I’ve been totally humiliated, there’s also a twomillion dollar lawsuit hanging over my head. I walk away from Trip and call Douglas from my cell phone. “I told him,” I say in the place of “hello.” “I told Trip everything, so now you can call off the lawsuit, just like you promised.” “You finally came clean?” Douglas asks. “Well, fuck me, I didn’t think you had the backbone to do it.” “Well, I did,” I say. “So, now it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain and call off your lawsuit. I want it called off against Trip, the movie studio, and me. Just drop the whole thing.” “Well, darling,” he says, “it’s not really that simple.” “Yes, Douglas, it is. You simply call your lawyers and tell them to drop it. Then they simply call the judge and it’s over. Simple.” “Well, I’m not going to drop it,” he says. “What do you mean?” I ask. “You promised.”
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“Well, I’ve had a change of heart,” he says. “The suit stays on.” “Then, I’ll sue you for breach of contract,” I say. “You made me an oral promise. I then acted in reasonable reliance on that promise and did something that I wouldn’t do otherwise. That makes what you promised me a legally binding contract.” See, I told you I was a good lawyer. “Save the legal mumbo jumbo, Brooke,” Douglas says. “I really couldn’t care less. And, anyway, I’m sure Trip will be delighted that the lawsuit’s still on. After all, it will be great publicity for the film.” I hang up the phone without saying goodbye and run over to the hair and make-up trailer to go find Jack and Vanessa. Walking through a film set is a surreal experience. And it’s not just because they have a mock-up of a New York City street right next to a mock-up of an elegant Los Angeles hotel. It’s because this film set is my life. Right across from the hotel, they’ve got my old office at Gilson, Hecht and Trattner (which is accurate down to the little stress ball that was always perched at the edge of my desk), and the SoHo apartment I used to share with Douglas. I’m sure that by tomorrow, they’ll be constructing a set of Vanessa’s Upper East Side apartment now that Trip knows the truth about what happened between Douglas and me, and how I had to move in with Vanessa after he kicked me out of our apartment. How different my life is now. I walk through the wardrobe department and see that they have a vintage Halston dress, one that’s exactly like the one that I wore to Trip and Ava’s wedding, just waiting to be worn. They also have a wedding dress for the actress who will be playing the bride. I walk over to the dress to get a closer look. It looks nothing like the actual dress that Ava wore to her wedding, but it’s beautiful all the same. The bodice has intricate double embroidered lace, covered in little pearls and tiny crystals. As I reach out to touch it, Vanessa calls out my name. “We’re going to find you a wedding dress that will be even more beautiful than this,” Vanessa says. And I know we will—Vanessa and my mom are taking me dress shopping next week and I can hardly wait. “Trip is still making the movie,” I say, “and Douglas isn’t dropping the lawsuit like he promised.” “Oh, who cares? Let Trip make his stupid movie and let Douglas have his stupid lawsuit. Your life will go on,” she says. And I actually believe her. For the first time since this mess began, I realize my life has nothing to do with this movie or the lawsuit. My life is about the people who love and support me most. The people who think that I’m fabulous no matter what. The people I feel the same way about. Vanessa motions to the hair and make-up trailer. “Let’s go.” “Hey,” Jack says, as he sits in a director’s chair, getting make-up airbrushed onto his face. Yes, after all he’s been through, I managed to wrangle him a little cameo in the movie. He’s playing Wedding Guest Number Five and I must say, he’s looking rather dashing today in his tuxedo. The one bright spot in the fact that Trip’s still making the movie. “Hey yourself,” I say, as Jack leans in for a kiss. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box. “I think you forgot something.” I open the box and see that Jack’s brought me my engagement ring. Not the fake one I wore to Trip’s wedding, but the real one. The ring that his grandfather gave to his grandmother when he came back from World War II.
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An ascher-cut diamond with regal trillions flanking it on either side and channel-set diamonds around the rest of the platinum band. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my whole life. I slip my ring back onto my finger. Where it belongs. And as I do, I realize that I shouldn’t have taken it off in the first place. And I never will again. “Are you sure that you want to marry a girl who’s going to be publicly humiliated next summer when Scot On The Rocks hits a theater near you?” I ask Jack. He smiles back at me. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
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Family Ever After by Linda Goodnight Ashley Harcourt isn't hiding—she's just taking a break from places where people know her name. Where they know her secrets. Once she's away from all that, she can truly start over and build a better life for herself. And her baby boy. But Ashley realizes there's no escaping her past when she runs into an old high school friend, Christopher Sullivan. Chris has never forgotten Ashley—or how much he loved her. Seeing her again, he's convinced God has given him a second chance, and he isn't going to let her walk away. But there's something she's keeping from him. Something that she thinks is so terrible not even God will forgive her….
Chapter One Ashley Harcourt finally had a handle on her life. Maybe. She hitched her baby boy higher on one hip and opened the wooden back gate leading through the colorful gardens between the cottages and the blacksmith shop. The metal clang of the smithy’s hammer echoed through the summer morning. A tiny thrill raced up Ashley’s arms as it did every day since beginning her internship at the Colonial Williamsburg Department of Research and Design. She loved everything about the historic town almost as much as she loved creating the clothes worn by the shopkeepers and tradesmen traversing the streets. Best of all, here in Williamsburg she was just another intern, not a notorious Harcourt from Chestnut Grove. Though the worst had died down, the unpleasant publicity hounding her family’s connection to the embattled Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency provided enough reason for Ashley to love the idea of a summer away. Chestnut Grove was only a few miles down the road, so she could be away from the scandal—both her family’s and that of her own making—yet remain close enough to see her family anytime she chose. Yes, here in Williamsburg, she could enjoy America’s past and hide from her own. The smithy’s hammering ceased. “Ashley?” a male voice called from somewhere behind her. Ashley stopped and whipped around, her long skirt circling her legs with fresh air. She’d only been here a week. Who could possibly be calling her name? A lean, muscular figure exited the open door of the blacksmith shop and came toward her, dusty black boots crunching softly on the glittering oyster shell path. Dressed in a leather apron over knee britches and a loose, muslin shirt opened at the throat, he looked like a blast from the past. The thought froze in her head as recognition dawned. He was a blast from the past. The near past. Hers. “Christopher?” she squeaked. The man she’d turned her back on when she’d been young and stupid was here, in Williamsburg.
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“It’s me,” he said, the familiar, crooked smile saying he was pleased to see her. So much for hiding from the past. “I saw you from the window,” he continued, motioning toward the blacksmith shop behind him. “Anyway, I thought it was you. What are you doing here in Williamsburg?” His green-as-spring gaze took in her long, colonial-style dress. From his behavior, it appeared he bore her no ill will. She just didn’t get that. Surely even Christians held grudges. Well, what did it matter one way or the other what he thought of her? A guy like Chris would have found a great wife by now who was as good as he was. No doubt, he barely remembered the short-lived relationship with Ashley Harcourt. He didn’t know it, but God had been looking out for him back then. She shifted the baby a little higher on one hip and said, “I’m interning in the fashion department.” With a smile, Chris held his arms out to the side. “So you’re the one making the interpreters’ duds?” “One of several. I’m still learning.” And until this moment, she’d thought the internship was the answer to her prayers. Guess not. “That’s great,” he said. Laugh lines, always present around his mouth and eyes, deepened. “So what are you doing here? I heard you became a minister.” “I did. A little church in modern Williamsburg not far from William and Mary, but you know how I always liked history. This is the best of both worlds. I can work on my masters’ thesis in historical trades, play with the forge and hammer and still take care of my church.” History was one of the things they’d had in common back at Tarkington, the elite private school they’d both attended, she because her parents were filthy rich and he because he was smart enough to get a scholarship. She’d always envied that brilliance. More than that, she’d envied his steadfast awareness of who he was and what he wanted out of life. Nothing ever shook Chris Sullivan. Faith and goodness emanated from him now as it did then. “That’s great.” She noticed he didn’t say one word about taking care of a family. Could someone like Chris still be single? A tiny flame of something akin to hope flickered in her chest, but she immediately doused it. Christopher was a nice guy. Good. Holy, even. And she was—well, she wasn’t holy, that was for certain. “So how have you been?” he asked. “Busy.” That was an understatement, considering the mess she’d made of her life. “You?” “Yep. Crazy busy, but it’s all good.” She wished she could say the same. “What time is your lunch? We can go to Chownings for root beer and barbeque and catch up.” Catch up? As nice as that sounded, she didn’t think so, given he was a minister and she was an unwed mother with a guilt complex bigger than a colonial hoop skirt. God may have forgiven her, but she was still working on forgiving herself.
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“I don’t know, Chris. Sometimes the past is better left alone.” If he knew the depth of her sin, a sin far greater than having a child out of wedlock, he wouldn’t even speak to her. His green eyes turned serious. “Friends don’t stop being friends because of a disagreement.” “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” He laughed. “Some. I hope for the better. So what do you say? Lunch later?” While she struggled for a kind but firm way out of a reunion lunch, Chris turned his attention to the baby. “And who’s this little guy?” As usual, she’d waited too long to do the right thing. Story of her life. Embarrassed heat rushed up the neck of her high lace collar, but she fought it off. She was ashamed of herself, but never of her baby. “This is Gabriel,” she said with quiet pride. “My son.” Something flickered in Chris’s expression as he glanced from the baby to her. But it wasn’t the censure she’d expected. “So you married the guy,” he said softly. Heart thudding, she hitched her chin. “No. Actually, I didn’t. He had other plans.” Denying any responsibility, Gabriel’s father had headed for Europe the day after discovering her pregnancy. According to his family, Ashley was a climber trying to lay claim to the family’s wealth and position. Had her own family not been wealthy, she could have understood their point. As it was, Roman’s behavior only proved how wrong she’d been to trust him in the first place. All the girls had wanted the new guy. He’d been exciting and wild, everything Chris wasn’t. She’d been flattered when the sophisticated heir to one of D.C.’s most prominent families cast his wandering eye and seductive smile in her direction. But no one had ever told her about men like Roman Fields. To Chris’s credit, he didn’t press for the ugly details, though he had to be curious. Instead, he took Gabriel’s reaching fingers and gave them a gentle shake. “Nice to meet you, little man.” Ashley’s heart squeezed as her baby displayed four front teeth in a wide grin. There was something undeniably beautiful about a child’s tiny hand wrapped around a man’s long fingers. Especially this man’s. The thought jerked her to her senses. She could not, would not, let herself think such things. Abruptly she said, “I have to go now.” As she deftly pried Gabriel’s fingers loose, her skin brushed Chris’s hand. The flutter in her belly was a warning she couldn’t deny. “Can’t be late for work. Sorry.” And she was. Sorry for all that she’d ruined. Sorry for the wrong she’d done. Sorry she’d lost all hope in the relationship department. Chris took one step back, his arms falling to his side. “Sure. Okay.”
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She could hear the disappointment and hated herself for putting it there. But common sense screamed for her to escape before she did something really stupid, like ask if he was married.
*** If Ashley had hit him in the face with a mud brick, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Or angry. Though heat billowed from the fire, and sweat ran down his face, Chris didn’t take a break from the forge. Ashley Harcourt, the girl he couldn’t forget—make that the woman he couldn’t forget—was back in his life. They’d lost touch when he’d graduated, considering she was with Roman, while he was the voice crying in the wilderness, scared of what a cad like Roman would do to a gentle, insecure girl like Ashley. Might as well admit the truth. He’d been jealous, too. He figured the Lord would understand if he wanted to punch the blue blood right out of Roman’s nose. Instead, he slammed the hammer down on the anvil with grim satisfaction. She’d changed, matured. There was a sad wisdom in her brown eyes that hadn’t been there in the old days. But she was still Ashley, the only woman he’d ever entertained any thoughts of marrying. From the first time he’d seen her in some funky looking vintage hat he’d been in love with her, though she hadn’t known it. He’d prayed a lot about her, especially after Roman came into the picture, and he finally decided he’d let his own will get in the way of God’s. Sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart. But now she was back. The idea gave him pause. He stopped, hands on hips, and stared out the window in the direction she’d gone. She was here, at least for the summer. So was he. That had to mean something.
Chapter Two “Ow!” Ashley stuck her index finger into her mouth and sucked hard. Milly, her boss, looked up from stitching a lace-edged cap. “Did you stick yourself with a needle again? What’s wrong today, Ashley? I’ve never seen you so fumble-fingered.” Then with a sly smile, the middleaged woman added, “wouldn’t be that handsome smithy I saw you talking to, would it?” Ashley’s nerve endings jittered. She’d thought of little else all morning. It seemed as if every time she started making progress in her life, something came along to knock her backward. No, that wasn’t fair, nor was it correct. Chris Sullivan had been a good friend. He’d never done a thing to cause her pain. She’d caused her own problems. Didn’t the bible say she had to reap whatever she’d sown? And she had sown some very bad seed. “Chris is an old friend,” she said simply. “That’s good.” Milly hitched a square chin toward the door just as the bell jangled overhead. “Because here he comes.” This time Ashley’s stomach jumped into her throat. Chris had discarded the tradesman’s apron but he still wore seventeenth-century garb, as was required of all who worked in the town. His dark brown hair was slicked back and caught at the nape in a very short ponytail. She wondered what his congregation thought of that.
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“It’s lunchtime,” he announced without preliminaries. “Right, Milly?” The designer glanced at the watch pinned to her gingham bodice. “That it is, young man.” “Then you won’t mind if I escort Miss Harcourt to Chownings. We have some catching up to do.” Milly eyed him over the rim of her skinny little bifocals. “Only if you promise to bring her back by one. Patrick Henry expects his new waistcoat today.” Chris chuckled. “Far be it from me to upset the fiery Mr. Henry. I’ll have her back in time.” He aimed a challenging grin at Ashley. “Grab whatever you need, and I’ll get the little guy.” While Ashley grappled for bearings, he went straight to the playpen. Gabriel held up chubby arms and babbled happily as Chris scooped him up. “Chris, I can’t.” She didn’t need the grief or the reminders of what an idiot she’d been. Still was. “Can’t what? Eat?” By now Gabriel had latched on to Chris’s ear. “Is this a medical problem I should know about? Everyone eats.” He gave Gabriel a little bounce. “Isn’t that right, champ?” When Gabriel laughed, Ashley cracked a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with my appetite.” “That’s a relief. Sickly women scare me.” Chris scooped an old-fashioned diaper bag onto his opposite arm and started toward the door with her baby. When she didn’t move, he said, “Are you coming or is it just me and the little guy for lunch?” The man had certainly changed from a docile, studious youth to a strong, forceful man. And the difference was rather thrilling. “You’d kidnap my son?” A dimple flashed in his right cheek. “Want to find out?” “I might stand right here and see if you would do it.” He opened the door. Gabriel looked at her, puzzled for a moment, and then he waved bye-bye. Christopher burst out laughing. “I think he likes me.” So did she. That was the trouble. Ashley studied his teasing expression for two beats before making up her mind. Chris was a friend. They were far enough away from Chestnut Grove to keep him from discovering her shameful secret, and right now she could use a good friend. “All right,” she sniffed, fighting the urge to laugh, too. “Anything to protect my son.” Behind her, Milly snorted. Knowing her boss’s propensity for romance novels and soap operas, Ashley let that slide right by. She needed friends, not a matchmaker. Later, she’d make it clear that there was nothing but friendship going on between her and Chris. As they stepped out on the boardwalk, Christopher offered his elbow. Ashley shook her head. “You have an old-fashioned diaper bag on there. I think that’s probably enough.” Instantly, he shifted both baby and bag to one arm. “What’s your excuse now, Miss Harcourt?”
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She batted her eyelashes at him playfully. “And they say chivalry is dead.” His answer was a cocky grin. She slid one hand into the crook of his elbow, the blacksmith’s muscles strong beneath her fingertips. As they strolled along Duke of Gloucester Street, Chris kept up a joking commentary on the peculiarities of the various shopkeepers. Christopher had always known how to make her laugh, had always been there to listen. For the first time in a long while, she felt relaxed and carefree again. A summer in the company of an old friend, far from the gossip of Chestnut Grove, might be a good thing after all. Catching up didn’t have to include everything. When they reached Chownings, tourists crowded the century-old eating establishment. In costume, she and Chris were obliged to act the part wherever they went. Chris was far better at it than she, doing so with grace, humor and amazing historical accuracy. “You’re good at this,” she said when they were finally alone. “Thanks. Do you like my ponytail?” He patted it. “It’s new this summer.” “Charming. But it’s the buckled shoes that really grabbed me.” Humor sparkled in his green eyes. “That’s what all the women say. Wait until I don my tri cornered hat. Turns me into a regular chick magnet.” They both laughed, but Ashley realized Chris was a chick magnet. He hadn’t been in school, but that was because of the snob mentality which deemed him unworthy because he didn’t come from a prominent family. Even then she’d recognized the lie in that. Chris had been worth more than all the money in that school. She just wished she’d realized it sooner. The waitress came and they ordered sandwiches. When she left, Chris laced his fingers together on the table top. “All right now. Talk time. Where have you been? What have you been doing?” She glanced at Gabriel in his highchair. “Well, I had a baby. Obviously.” She gave a nervous laugh, expecting to be judged somehow less because of that. “He’s a happy baby. You must be a great mom.” Considering how bad a mother she’d once been, his compliment buoyed her. “Thanks. I’m trying.” “Raising a baby alone can’t be easy.” “It isn’t, but my parents help out some.” She handed the baby a toy to keep him occupied. “So tell me about you? I thought you’d be a missionary in India by now.” “Those were my plans. The Lord had others. My mom was diagnosed with lupus, so I needed to stay close to home.” “I’m sorry. I hope she’s doing okay.” Chris was all about family. “Mom’s tough. She’s doing pretty well.” “What about your brothers? I thought they lived in Williamsburg, too.” “Mark does, but Sean’s in the military. Mark has four kids, including a set of triplets. I figured he had his hands full.”
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She widened her eyes in pretend horror. “No kidding. One is a handful for me most of the time. Are you sorry you didn’t make it to the mission fields?” “Not even a little. The Lord showed me something pretty cool. There are mission fields everywhere, even here in Williamsburg. And He’s such a good God. As soon as I made the decision to stay home, a new church plant opened up and asked me to take over the pastorate. It’s small but growing so I’m bi-vocational for now. And even that’s a good thing—a gift—because I can work here doing something else I love.” “So everything worked out perfectly for you.” He gave her a quizzical look. “Not everything. No luck yet finding the perfect woman. But I have a feeling God’s not finished in that department.” Ashley let the sentence soak into her consciousness. For his sake, she hoped he didn’t mean what she thought he meant, but just in case, she didn’t ask. Instead she said, “I’m a Christian now, too.” Saying the words still felt odd, but odd in a good way. “I knew there was something different about you. Besides being a new mom.” “Is it a good difference or a bad difference?” “Definitely good. You’re more confident. More peaceful. Grown up, I guess.” If only he knew how scared she was all the time. “When I was pregnant with Gabriel, I remembered what you’d told me about Jesus, about how He loves us even though we’ve messed up. Then I had some problems after Gabriel was born.” Some of which she prayed he’d never heard about. Christopher’s eyes flared alarm. “Are you okay?” “Oh sure. I’m fine now.” Physically, anyway. “But the crisis opened my eyes and I gave my life over to Him. I figured He could run it a lot better than I had.” “This is awesome, Ash. The best news ever.” Though she’d expected nothing less from Chris, she felt a little self-conscious. She might be a Christian, but she was far from perfect like Chris. “It’s all still new, but I know I made the right choice.” “Yeah. Absolutely.” He leaned forward as though he wanted to touch her but instead kept his elbows on the rough-hewn wooden table. The deep spirituality that had marked him as a target for both ridicule and respect at Tarkington flowed from him. He had always had a passion for God that she was only just now beginning to understand. “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” he said. “And all that time whenever I talked about Jesus, you acted bored.” “Not bored, really. Uncomfortable and puzzled. I just didn’t get it. But I was listening, too. You had something none of the rest of us had. A sense of purpose, a sense of who you were and what you wanted out of life.” “Oh, I had my doubts at times, especially at Tarkington.”
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“You?” “Sure. It’s not easy being the odd man out.” “I suppose not.” In truth, she’d never considered how difficult it must have been for him. He’d never complained, but he’d also never had the money for the kinds of clothes and car and entertainment the rest of them enjoyed. She’d had all that but still lacked the one thing he did have: happiness. “So what are your big plans for the future?” She hitched one shoulder. “To raise my son and hopefully to work my way into the head designer’s job here someday. I’m entering the Independence Day contest with some of my best work. If I can win that, I’ll automatically be invited to stay on as an apprentice.” The Independence Day Committee was holding a design contest this year in conjunction with the usual celebrations. Quilts, clothing, hats and any number of other stitched goods could be submitted by contestants around the globe. The prize winner could choose between a cash prize or an apprenticeship with the museum. Ashley wanted the coveted apprenticeship badly. “You always did have a sense of style.” Chris tilted back in his chair, fingers absently rubbing the condensation from his root beer bottle. “I remember some of the outfits you put together. The floppy old hats and scarves and crazy color combinations you wore. A total individualist.” She’d been dying for attention while trying to hide the scared, confused Ashley behind her crazy costumes. She understood that now. “When your sister is a beautiful model that everyone goes ga-ga over, you have to do something to stand out.” “You’re every bit as beautiful as Samantha.” “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.” “Take it anyway. You always did sell yourself short.” “And you were the nicest guy on campus.” “Well, you know what they say about nice guys,” he joked. “Last place.” She laughed. “Not true. Look at you.” A funny expression crossed his face, but before he could say more, the waitress brought their food. Gabriel slapped the top of his highchair and made excited baby noises. “Don’t you ever feed this kid?” Chris softened the question with a grin. “Trust me, he eats all the time. He loves food.” As was evidenced by his chubby cheeks and thrashing legs. “Even those?” Chris gave a pretend shudder as he pointed at a bowl of English peas. “Poor kid. Mind if I give him a French fry?” “You’ll be his best friend forever if you do.”
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“Can’t beat a deal like that.” He dipped the potato in ketchup and offered it to the wiggling child. “What about us, Ashley? Are we sill friends?” “I hope so.” Friends, she could handle. “Cool. Very cool. Mind if I say grace?” “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” She folded her hands on the tabletop and closed her eyes. After the quiet prayer, Chris winked at her. Then he popped a French fry into his mouth while handing another to Gabriel. Some of the tension left Ashley’s shoulders. If Christopher only had friendship in mind, he was safe…and so was her secret. They’d both be just fine for a summer.
Chapter Three Christopher didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the charade. After two weeks of finding excuses to see her, he was going a little crazy. But Ashley still held part of herself aloof, as though she was afraid of letting him get too close. Like a butterfly in one of Williamsburg’s glorious gardens, she flitted just out of his reach. She liked him. He was certain of that, but frankly, friendship wasn’t enough. Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. Friends. What had he been thinking when he’d said such a goofball thing? He had lots of friends. He wanted a wife. He wanted Ashley. He wanted to be her white knight whether she needed one or not—the man she looked to, the man she needed in her life. And this time he refused to be the odd man out, the kid who didn’t fit. Here they were on equal footing. He clicked the lock on the blacksmith shop and crossed the short distance to Ashley’s cozy cottage. Last night, he’d weaseled an invitation to her place for spaghetti. Tonight it was lasagna. She was a horrible cook, but he would have eaten dirt and asked for seconds to see her smile. He’d also promised his unbiased opinion on the historical gown she was hand-stitching for the July Fourth contest. Never mind that he was completely ignorant on the matter—he’d use any excuse to spend time with Ashley and little Gabriel. Behind the heavy drapes of her living quarters, a light glowed. He lifted his knuckles to knock but before he could, Ashley yanked the door open. “Get in here, quick.” She plucked his shirt sleeve and tugged him inside. He cast a furtive look behind him. ”Don’t tell me. The British are coming—again.” “No, silly, I want to show you something.” She pointed to Gabriel, who stood hanging on to the couch, fat knees bobbing up and down in a baby dance. In a very short period of time, the little boy’s constant smile and sweet nature had easily won him over, and it hadn’t taken much. He was a sucker for kids. Ashley motioned him toward the couch where she went down on her haunches in front of the baby and held out both arms. “Come to Mama, sugar pie.” Gabriel’s bouncing stopped while he considered the request, but he didn’t turn loose of the couch. Ashley tried again. “Come on, baby. Show Chris what a big boy you are. Walk to Mommy.”
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Still the baby didn’t budge. The situation would have been funny if Ashley hadn’t looked so disappointed. “He took some steps not five minutes ago, and now he won’t do it.” Chris squatted down and held out his arms. “Come on, champ. Show off for your Mama.” To his surprise, Gabe’s eyes lit up and he stretched one hand in Chris’s direction, hanging onto the couch with the other. In the next instant, he let go completely and toddled two steps into Chris’s waiting arms. “He did it, he did it,” Ashley squealed. Chris knew exactly how she felt. Clasping Gabriel to his chest and laughing, he pivoted toward the excited mommy. With a whoop, she threw her arms around both the baby and him. Reflexively, he pulled her close. The next thing he knew he was drowning in eyes as soft as brown velvet. Was it his nearness that sent her pulse tick-ticking against her collarbone? Or the thrill of seeing her baby walk? Just in case it was both, he murmured, “Ash.” The corners of her lips tilted upward. She didn’t move away, just held his gaze with hers. And in that sweet, celebratory moment, Chris knew that this was meant to be his family. He, Ashley and Gabriel. But before it could happen, he needed a small miracle. He needed Ashley to love him, too. Ashley felt the rumble of Christopher’s merry laughter give way to the steady thud-thud of his heartbeat. This close, the gentle scent of shower soap and the strength of arms that wielded a smithy’s hammer were a powerful combination—and a reminder that Chris might be a friend, but he was also a man. She started to pull away, but Chris held fast. “Ash,” he said again, eyes searching hers, sculpted smile questioning. He wanted to kiss her. Not good. Not good at all. Especially since she struggled with the longing to place her palm against his strong, square jaw and let him. But she liked him too much to go there. That was the trouble. She liked him way too much to ruin his life with the scandal that surrounded her. Gently, so as not to hurt his feelings more, she transferred her arms from Chris to her son, putting the focus on Gabriel. Chris got the message and tilted back on his heels, still watching her. While she fiddled with Gabriel’s downy blond curls, Chris spoke quietly. “I have a confession to make.” Her gaze flicked up to his and back down to her son. “Sounds serious.” “Remember a few weeks ago when I said I wanted us to be friends?” Her fingers stilled. “Yes.”
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“That wasn’t exactly true.” Ashley’s heart skipped a beat. Either Chris had judged her and found her wanting, or worse, he hadn’t. Either way, she was in trouble. She opted for what she deserved—judgment. “It’s okay. I understand.” “I don’t think you do.” Chris’s voice remained soft, the tone mesmerizing. The muscles in Ashley’s shoulders, already stiff from hours over a needle and thread, bunched to a spasm. Gabriel wiggled loose and crawled onto Chris’s knee. As if he hardly noticed his actions, Chris bounced the baby up and down. Ashley cast around for something to say but her brain, like a drained battery, no longer functioned. “Friendship is a good start, Ash,” Chris said. “And I want that for us. But I want more.” The skittering pulse stopped and restarted. “I don’t understand.” Or maybe she did. And the idea scared her out of her mind. Regardless of her feelings or of his, what he wanted was impossible…. “Here’s the deal.” Strong, calloused fingers found hers and squeezed. “I let you get away once before. I’d be a fool to let it happen again.” Fighting off a futile surge of hope, Ashley shook her head. Chris the Christian, the nice guy turned minister, hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. She was no prize. She wasn’t the same innocent girl he’d known at Tarkington. As much as she liked him, she couldn’t let him do this to himself. She tried to tease away the seriousness. “Oh, no you don’t, Christopher Sullivan. No fair changing the rules mid game.” “I’m serious, Ashley.” “Get real. You have a ton of women sending messages your way every day. I’ve seen them in the blacksmith shop, on the streets. You don’t need me.” He drew in a ragged breath and blew it out. The puff of air stirred Gabe’s curls. The baby gurgled. “Wrong. I do need you.” Yeah, like he needed to stick his hand into an open fire. She was stuck between telling a lie—which was a sin—and moving their relationship into a new realm, which would also be a sin. She didn’t know what to do. “I care about you, Chris. It’s just that…” His mouth formed a hard line. “What? My bank account’s not big enough for a Harcourt?” “No.” She grabbed his shirt collar. “Don’t think that. Don’t ever think that. I’m worried about you, not me.” “Worried about me? Why? What are you talking about?” Dismayed to have blurted out the worry, she tilted away and grew quiet. “I have a baby, Chris. You’re a pastor.”
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His expression went rock hard. “So?” She flushed red hot. “Don’t be naïve. It matters.” “Not to me. The way I look at it, everyone makes mistakes. Some are just more obvious than others.” He glanced down at the baby on his knees. “And to tell the truth, it’s kind of hard to look at this little guy and even think the word mistake.” “I know,” she said softly. Gabriel wasn’t a mistake, but she had made plenty that Christopher didn’t know about. “I just think we’d be better off as friends, that’s all.” If only he knew how despicable she really was, he wouldn’t even want that much. “Don’t you believe in second chances?” Couldn’t he see how damaging a relationship with her could be to his career as a minister? “I don’t think so.” “What about the second chance Christ gave you?” “That’s different.” “Is it?” he asked. She didn’t know. Eyes narrowed in thought as though some grand scheme took shape inside his brilliant mind, Christopher said, “Give me the rest of the summer to prove you wrong.” When she hesitated, torn between what she wanted and what she knew was best, he laughed and tapped her on the chin. “A couple of months. That’s all I’m asking. I might be worth it.” Oh, he was worth it all right. But was she?
*** The sun moved toward the western horizon and in the near distance on the square, the drum and fife corps warmed up for the evening march through town. Ashley slid the diaper bag onto the handle of Gabriel’s stroller while Chris lowered the baby into the seat. Her son chattered and kicked as if he’d been waiting all day for Christopher’s company. She could totally understand the feeling. On the days she didn’t see him, which were few, life felt flat and gray. In civilian clothes, as they jokingly called jeans and T-shirts, they headed out of the old section of Williamsburg, past William and Mary College toward modern Williamsburg. Ashley was playing with fire and she knew it, but like some kind of warped personality, she couldn’t seem to resist Chris’s gentle courtship. He didn’t push hard, but he did push. Showing up at odd moments to whisk her off for a stroll through the gardens or for a refreshing soda—or times like these when he came by after work with the offer to walk her and Gabriel to the town park. Dating was difficult with a baby tagging along and she figured that was a good thing. She didn’t date. Couldn’t date. But Chris never let Gabriel’s presence bother him. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her son. And to tell the truth, her heart melted at the sight of this big, strong but gentle man who gave her son the masculine attention he craved.
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Gabriel needed a father. A father like Chris. She shook her head to dispel the thought. Chris had asked for the summer and she’d give him that. She’d give herself that. But from there, they had no future. Here in Williamsburg for the summer only, he and his career as minister were safe from her sins. Outside this town, her mistakes were waiting like hungry wolves to hurt everyone.
Chapter Four Ashley stood back to admire the glorious handcrafted dress she’d designed for the contest. Made of watered silk, only the wealthiest planter’s wife could have worn this in the eighteenth century. This was her masterpiece, and after weeks of painstaking work both in the shop and at home, the rich burgundy gown was completed. “It’s perfect, Ashley,” Milly said from her spot at the design table. “You’ve done an excellent job.” Ashley fussed with the lace sleeves. “Do you think it has a chance to win?” “As good a chance as any other.” Milly pushed her wire rims higher on her nose. “Are you wearing it to the Garden Party after the judging?” Ashley nodded. Each year on July Fourth, a garden party was held at the Governor’s Palace. Employees and interns were requested to attend in full colonial dress to create the perfect atmosphere for the tourists. “I designed a cute little suit for Gabriel, too.” “What about your young blacksmith?” “Milly, you are hopeless.” And so was she. Sometimes she wondered why God brought Chris back into her life now, when she’d destroyed any hope of them being together for more than the summer. “Christopher is not my anything.” “Well, he wants to be, so wake up. He’s a catch.” With a roll of her eyes, Ashley draped the carefully folded gown over the shade of Gabriel’s buggy and started out the door. As much as she’d like to talk to someone about Chris, about the terrible confusion inside her, Milly was not the person. Since Gabriel’s birth, she and her sister had been close enough to talk. Though Samantha was on a modeling assignment in South Africa, maybe she’d give her a call tonight anyway. She needed some advice badly. “Talk to you later, Milly. I have to get this dress up to the ballroom before five.” She pushed out into the muggy July afternoon with Gabriel fast asleep. Though the sun shone brightly, thunder rumbled in the distance like an empty train. Hesitating, Ashley cast a cautious eye to the clouds. Water would ruin the gown, but unless her entry arrived on time, she hadn’t a chance of winning. One disadvantage of Colonial living was the lack of modern conveyance at times like this. After a minute of indecision, she pressed on, hurrying down the street. Most evenings this week thunder had rumbled but they’d had no rain. Today would likely be the same. Three blocks into the walk, she was calling herself an idiot. The wind picked up and the sky darkened. A block later, fat drops of rain splattered the top of her head. Frustration and dismay mounted with each hurried step.
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After making certain Gabriel was covered, she flipped open her umbrella, held it close to the gown and pushed the buggy faster. Like always, she’d made the wrong decision and now she’d suffer the consequence. She glanced behind her, considered turning back. She’d already passed all the open businesses but the palace was still some distance. Wheeling around, she headed toward an eatery one block away and directly into the now driving rain. Everyone with any sense had already ducked inside the shops and open buildings. Leave it to her to be caught out in a cloudburst. Holding the umbrella like a shield, she pushed forward, blinded to all but the next step. By now, Gabriel was awake and howling. Water sluiced off the edge of the umbrella into her face, onto the buggy and the voluminous silk skirt. Tears prickled the back of her eyelids. Sometimes she hated herself. She could do the stupidest things. Even God must think she was stupid today. “Ashley!” Out of nowhere, Christopher appeared in front of her and in the next moment a canvas tarp blocked the rain. “Chris, what are you doing out in this?” “Rescuing the damsel in distress, I hope.” He guided them, tarp aloft like a giant kite, down the street and into the restaurant. “I’ve always wanted to add that to my resume. Minister, blacksmith, knight in shining armor. Kind of has a ring to it, huh?” Normally, his joke would have made her laugh and she would have replied in kind. Not this time. She was too busy hating herself. Once inside the old building, Ashley bent to soothe the startled baby and examine the burgundy gown. All the while, she fought tears. “I should have known better than to chance it. I’m so stupid sometimes.” Reaching around her to take Gabriel, Chris frowned. “Why do you do that?” “What? Tell the truth? That I’m a total mess-up?” “Everyone messes up occasionally, Ashley. Cut yourself some slack. No one expected a cloudburst. I sure didn’t.” He hitched his chin toward a table. “Come on. Let’s sit until this blows over.” She left the elegant dress draped inside Gabriel’s carriage. “This is probably ruined now anyway.” “Maybe not. But if it is, would that be the end of the world?” He settled into a chair with Gabriel on his lap. The baby snuggled into Chris’s chest and closed his eyes. “No, I suppose not, but I wanted to win that contest.” Still, Chris was right. It wasn’t the end of the world. A spark of the ridiculous struck her as she cast a baleful glance toward the water-sprinkled dress. “I learned one thing from this. Watered silk does not really need watering.” “That’s my girl. Turn that frown upside down.” The corners of Chris’s eyes crinkled at the childish rhyme. “Do you have anything else to enter?” She shrugged. “Nothing that has a chance. I designed a fancy outfit for Gabriel, waistcoat and britches, everything, but it’s not as elaborate as the gown.” “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” She had little hope for winning now, but the contest was still an opportunity to get her work in front of interested people.
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“Well, maybe.” Her spirits lifted the slightest bit. Leave it to Chris to encourage her this way. No wonder she’d fallen in love with him. Her heart stuttered and stopped, then started again. She loved a man of God, a man who needed a perfect wife, a wife with a clean slate. She wondered if God was angry at her for even considering such a thing. “There you go, then,” Chris was saying. “When the rain passes, if the gown is too damaged, we’ll get Gabriel’s duds and head on over to the palace.” He glanced out the window at the brightening sky. “I stopped by your shop to ask you about the Garden Party this Saturday. Maybe we could go together.” Ashley didn’t hesitate. She’d promised him the summer. And even though there was no hope for them beyond this, she wanted to be with him now. “Don’t we both have to attend anyway?” she said, teasing her way past the band of worry determined to strangle the joy of loving. One masculine hand slapped the spot above his heart. “Ouch. There went my ego. A few minutes ago I was your white knight.” He still was. Always would be. “Do you still want us to come to church with you on Sunday?” “Yes, and no backing out now. I’ve already told my friends that I’m bringing someone very special.” She had yet to hear him preach, though he’d asked her several times. This Sunday, a special Independence Day celebration was planned with fellowship afterward. The idea of meeting his congregation gave her the jitters but she’d promised. She breathed a secret prayer that no one in the congregation would recognize her name.
*** Within the walled confines of the Governor’s Palace, music from a stringed quartet lilted over the lush, green maze of boxwood and the vibrant flower gardens. Interpreters in fancy dress milled about, chatting eighteenth century business with one another and the guests who had paid handily for the honor of attending the formal party. Ashley wore the silk gown, and to Chris she was the most beautiful woman in the gardens. He knew she was disappointed about the contest and so was he. If she’d won, he could guarantee keeping her in Williamsburg for longer than a summer. Now, there was only one way to keep her here. She cared for him. He was sure of it, but each time he tried to move their relationship closer to commitment, she backed away. Something bothered her. He wished she’d trust him enough to confide in him. Somehow, someway, he’d break down the wall that separated them. He’d prayed all week about tonight and tomorrow, when she’d promised to attend church. He was certain once she met his friends and congregation, she would see how well she fit in, how much she could enjoy the life here, and how much he needed her at his side. Tonight and always. He took two glasses of foamy punch and moved through the murmuring crowd to her side. “Beautiful lady,” he said, offering a glass. “Flatterer.” But she beamed at the compliment. “You’re looking very handsome yourself.” He stroked four fingers over his embroidered weskit. “I happen to know the town’s best seamstress. She makes me look good.” “Really? And who might this talented lady be?”
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He leaned closer, loving the golden flecks in her brown eyes. “If you and your handsome son would care to accompany me around the lawns, I might be persuaded to tell you.” They both chuckled softly at the silliness and began to stroll the narrow pathways through the enormous gardens. When he reached for Ashley’s hand, she slid hers easily into his. Such a simple act and yet he loved holding her hand, touching her soft skin, being with her. He wondered if she had any idea how much her quiet laugh and gentle insights meant to him. When he shared his dreams, she encouraged and admired. When he shared his worries, she listened. Yes, he loved Ashley Harcourt, a girl some would call out of his league, but he knew God was the great equalizer. Their shared faith was enough. The palace gardens encompassed several acres and before he realized it, they were deep inside the elaborate holly maze. “A person could get lost in here.” “Would that be so bad?” he asked. Her smile was his answer, so they settled on a bench in a verdant nook and talked as night fell around them. Lanterns were struck and the flicker of gas lights lit the evening with a romantic glow. And they talked on. Chris felt a contentment tonight that had been missing in his life. Ashley and Gabriel gave him new purpose. “We can watch the fireworks from here,” Ashley said, “if Gabriel cooperates.” Though he’d been awake most of the evening, the baby now slept, his long eyelashes shadowed on chubby cheeks. “Sounds good to me.” The fireworks were on the palace green in front of the palace. “As far as I’m concerned we can stay here forever.” “Why, Mr. Sullivan. You would compromise my honor by keeping me out here alone forever?” Though Ashley joked, Chris didn’t. “No, ma’am. I’d never do anything to compromise you in any way.” He turned to face her, pulling her hands into his. “I was going to wait until summer’s end to do this, but I’ve been waiting for you for years. I love you, Ashley.” She touched his cheek. “I know.” He held his breath, waiting. Would she finally admit what he knew was true? That she loved him, too? Her answer came in a rustle of silk as she slid her arms around his neck and moved closer. Her soft breath mingled with his until he thought he’d die of waiting. “I love you, too, Chris, but—” He cut her off with a kiss. Tonight he wanted no buts, only the joyous knowledge that she loved him.
Chapter Five Ashley awakened with a sense of hope so powerful she slid to her knees beside the bed and said a prayer of thanks. Last night, she’d told Chris all that was on her heart. For once, she couldn’t avoid the truth and hadn’t wanted to. He deserved to know how lovable and wonderful he was. So she’d told him. She’d told him how
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happy he made her and how he filled her heart with plans and hopes and dreams. She’d admitted how she admired and respected him and how much she’d grown in her faith just from spending time with him. And she’d pledged her love. Part of her wanted to laugh and sing and shout from the courthouse balcony the good news. The sensible part of her was scared silly. They were in love, and for now, that was enough. But would marriage be down the road? Could she take that chance? Chris kept telling her everything would work out, and he was so smart. Maybe he was right. Maybe she could move past her mistakes. Maybe God had forgiven her enough. Now, sitting in his church, she watched her love in the pulpit, saw his eyes twinkle when he looked her way, and felt more special than she ever had in her life. Pastor Christopher Sullivan loved her. When the service ended, he made his way through the small congregation to her side. Friendly faces gathered round to meet her. Though Christopher introduced her only as “my friend, Ashley,” the parishioners smiled knowingly. Anyone watching them could see they were in love. It shone from her eyes like noonday sun. Chris hoisted Gabriel onto one shoulder and placed his hand at her elbow, guiding her down a short hall to the fellowship room. A handful of church members ambled alongside, chit-chatting. Some discussed the sermon, others asked about Gabriel, and still others discussed yesterday’s Independence Day celebrations. They smiled and talked to her, not one of them suspicious or cold in any way. Ashley breathed a prayer of thanks for the warm welcome. Maybe the dream was possible after all. Ladies of the church bustled about setting out covered dishes and preparing the tables. Their good humored chatter blended with the clatter of pans and spoons and scraping chairs. Two teenage girls begged to play with Gabriel and carried him away like a special toy. With Christopher deep in conversation with one of his elders, Ashley stepped into the kitchen section where the warm scent of fried chicken hovered in the air like ministering angels. “This room smells fabulous,” she said and then laughed along with the others, feeling better by the minute. “How can I help?” A redhead with glasses looked up from the oven. “You could start filling cups with ice. Or slice the pies and cakes if you’d like.” Ashley dove in, happy to be useful and accepted. “There sure is a lot of food here.” A grandmotherly lady with rosy cheeks said, “Sure is, honey. Pastor Chris has a thing about feeding the needy. Well, we all do, but you know how he is.” The other ladies looked at her with smiling speculation. “What Margie means,” said the redhead, “is this. After our fellowship, the real work begins. We pack carryout trays, load up the van and take dinner to all the shut-ins we know of and the rest goes to the shelter down by the free clinic. Pastor does a lot of ministry work down there.” For half a minute, Ashley was transported back in time to the day of Gabriel’s birth at the free clinic. A cold wave of anxiety washed over her. Would Chris expect her to go down there? Would she be recognized? “Honey, you’re the color of wallpaper paste. Are you okay?” Margie took Ashley’s arm and guided her to a chair. A fashionable woman near her age, who’d said little, thrust a glass of iced tea into her hands. With a self-conscious laugh, Ashley said, “I’m all right. It’s just so warm in here.”
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“Hotter than the Fourth of July,” Margie joked, swiping at her brow. With the bit of humor, Ashley’s uncomfortable moment passed but she couldn’t shake the feeling that disaster waited like a crouching tiger. When the meal was served, Ashley, nerves still jittery, sat at a long, plastic-covered table next to Chris and picked at her potato salad. The fashionable young woman, whose name was Paige, sat across from them. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize Paige was interested in the handsome young pastor. A twinge of jealousy caught Ashley by surprise and she doubled her efforts to talk to the woman. “Have you attended Crosspoint long?” she asked. “A while.” Paige smiled, but she looked at Ashley with an odd expression. “Something about you seems so familiar. What did you say your last name is?” Ashley swallowed a new attack of nerves. “Harcourt. I’m not from this area.” “Harcourt. Harcourt.” Paige tapped a fingernail on the table edge and stared. “You aren’t related to the man over in Chestnut Grove that used to run the adoption agency, are you?” Ashley’s jitters turned to knee-knocking anxiety. Area newspapers had been filled with the story for months. “He was my grandfather.” “We all read about that. Ashley and her folks had no idea what her grandfather was doing,” Chris said over a fork of baked beans. “No, we didn’t. No one is sorrier than we are for all the problems he caused.” Her grandfather Barnaby Harcourt had falsified birth records and basically bought and sold babies through the years. She shuddered to think his blood flowed through her veins. Some would call her a chip off the old block. “I remember reading about that one girl, Kelly something I think,” Paige went on. “Fascinating story. She and her birth mother had been living in the same town all those years and neither of them knew it.” Ashley wanted to change the subject, but her mind had frozen in fear. “And then the mayor’s wife tried to kill her so no one would discover that the mayor himself had fathered the girl and paid Barnaby Harcourt to get rid of her.” Paige gave a happy shiver. “It was better than a soap opera. You remember reading it don’t you, Chris?” She cast baby blues at Chris—whose expression had darkened. “And then if that wasn’t enough, someone found an abandoned baby on the doorstep, and he turned out to belong to one of the Harcourts.” The moment the words flew out of her mouth, Paige pretended to be surprised. She laid a manicured hand over her mouth and stared at Ashley. “That wasn’t you, was it?” Ashley knew she’d been set up. Paige had known all along. Shaking all over, she glanced at Chris. The shock on his face was all she needed to see. With as much grace as she could muster with her whole world crumbling, she said, “Excuse me. I need to change my son.” “Ashley?” Chris shoved back from the table. “Wait.” But she couldn’t. Grabbing Gabriel without explanation, she hurried out of the building and hailed a taxi. The worst had happened. Christopher now knew her darkest shame. Worse, she had embarrassed him in front of his congregation. Shame was a tidal wave, sweeping her back to that frightening time when she’d made the worst mistake of her life. No excuse was ever enough to justify the sin she’d committed the day
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she’d left Gabriel on the doorstep of Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency. How could she expect Christopher to understand? She didn’t understand herself. “Where to, Miss?” the cabbie asked. Her summer of hope and love was over. She’d known all along she couldn’t have Chris. She’d even known better than to attend his church. Still, for that shining moment last night, she’d almost believed things would work out the way Chris promised. But life didn’t work that way. Some things couldn’t be forgiven. Might as well face the end and be done with it. Christopher didn’t need a woman like her in his life. “Chestnut Grove,” she replied, gave her parents’ address, and, gripping her baby tightly, let the tears come.
*** At dusk, Ashley sat in the shady garden patio alongside her parents’ pool. After explaining what had transpired with Chris, she wanted to be alone. Mother had Gabriel inside while Ashley tried to pray but she was too depressed. Tomorrow was soon enough to make a decision about her internship. The patio door slid open but she didn’t turn around. “I’ll take him now, Mother, if you’re tired.” No answer. She twisted around in her chair and her heart dipped low. She might have known he would come. Chris wasn’t a man to leave loose ends. “I don’t want to talk.” “Too bad. I do.” He scraped a chair over the cobblestones and parked it beside hers. “After you left, Paige told me the whole story. The one she read in the paper, anyway. I want to hear it from you.” Shame suffused her. “Why?” “Because I want to hear your side, what really happened.” The scent of hamburgers wafted on the wind. Someone in the neighborhood must be grilling. “I abandoned my baby. Period.” “There’s more to it than that. I know how much you love him.” “That’s why. Because I loved him. Because I was confused and stupid and sick.” “What kind of sick?” “Mentally. Physically. Every way.” She picked at her fingernail, ashamed to look at the man she loved now that he knew what kind of person she really was. “Mother and Dad were out of the country because of the adoption scandals. They didn’t even know I was pregnant. We never talked anyway. I didn’t think they’d care or help.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I was so scared, so very scared. And when the fever started…” She shivered at the memory of the terrible sickness, a sickness so powerful she hadn’t been able to remember where Gabriel was, couldn’t remember if she’d fed him. Chris’s hand covered hers. Even in the heat of the summer her skin was cold.
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“I sneaked out of the clinic with Gabriel an hour after his birth to come home. I wanted to think things through, figure out what to do. But then I got so sick. I couldn’t take care of him. I couldn’t stop shaking. And the fever was so bad, I thought I might die. And if I died, so would he. All I could think of was getting Gabriel to some place safe.” “So you took him to the agency.” She nodded. “Stupid, I know. So stupid.” “No. The natural instinct of a loving mother to protect her baby.” “Don’t make excuses for me, Chris. I abandoned my son.” “And you can’t forgive yourself.” “Could you?” Instead of a pat answer, Chris took his time and thought about it. She appreciated that. Platitudes wouldn’t cut it today. “I don’t know, Ash. But I do know this. God forgave you when you asked Him into your life.” “But He remembers. I have to pay for what I’ve done.” “If you think that, you’re aren’t reading the same Bible I do. Jesus paid for your sins and your mistakes, Ashley. All of them, even the ones you have trouble letting go of. Your past is washed away in a sea of God’s forgetfulness, as far as the east is from the west. God doesn’t hold your sin against you unless you keep on doing it.” The smallest flame of hope flickered. “Is that true? Or are you trying to make me feel better?” “Both. I knew you were struggling with something heavy. I just wish you would have told me a long time ago.” “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, in front of everyone. I was so ashamed. Still am.” In trying to protect him, she’d only hurt him more. Since giving birth she understood love in a new light. Love was giving. Love never did harm. By not telling him everything, she’d set Chris up for harm. “Now you know why I can’t be with you. A fallen woman, a woman who would abandon her own child would be a detriment to a pastor. Just like today, no congregation would accept that. I’d ruin your career.” She couldn’t do that to him. Not if she really loved him. “You’re wrong about that.” She shook her head, loose locks tumbling from the knot she’d twisted atop her head. “I don’t think so.” “What if I left the ministry?” “Absolutely not! You’re a wonderful pastor. The people love you.” “After you left, I offered to resign.” Horror filled her. This was worse than she’d thought. “Oh no, Chris. Oh, please say you didn’t.”
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“The church wouldn’t let me. But we had a long, fruitful discussion. That’s why it took me awhile to get here. For some time now, the church has been helping me pray for a wife. I told them I’d found her. But like every one of us, she isn’t perfect.” He tapped her on the nose and smiled. “But close enough to perfect for me. And if they didn’t have it in their hearts to follow the teachings of Jesus in such matters, then I couldn’t be their pastor.” “I can’t believe you did that.” “Believe it. Being a Christian means behaving like Christ. He taught love and compassion, not judgment and condemnation. Paige is a new Christian, too. She made a mistake today. She knows that now, and I hope you’ll forgive her.” Forgive her? Ashley wanted to strangle her. Immediately, she squelched the thought. If she expected to be forgiven, she had to forgive. “Paige likes you.” “I know. But I’m in love with you. God put us together, Ashley. Don’t tear us apart again.” God put them together. She liked the sound of that. Like chocolate in July, her resistance melted. “Oh Christopher, I love you. I’m sorry for—“ He placed his fingertips over her lips. “Shh. No more apologies. All is forgiven.” Forgiven. The sweetest word ever spoken. At last, she understood the depth of God’s love and forgiveness. Understood and accepted. And as her true love pulled her into his arms for the sweetest kiss, Ashley was finally able to leave the past behind and embrace the future, as a woman, as a mother and someday soon as a pastor’s wife.
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All Hallows' Joy by Christine Merrill October, 1814 Cornwall With a storm looming over the coast and the night darkening, Jack Kendall thinks he is lucky to find an inn. But as he gets closer, he begins to sense that all is not right with the place, and that he may be in mortal danger. He considers getting on his trusty horse, Ajax, and riding for the next hotel. But then he sees a pale, but beautiful lady in the window above him, and he is compelled to enter, sealing his fate. Jack’s situation grows ever more precarious as the night progresses, pitting him against evil forces. But the most challenging test of his gallantry—and desire—is the mysterious and haunting Joy….
Chapter One A flash of lightning split the night sky, a crack of thunder following close on its heels. Jack Kendall smelled the tang of a storm on the wind, sharper than the salt of the nearby sea. He damned his own foolishness for journeying to Cornwall in October and on horseback. A sensible man would have waited for a spring afternoon and gone by coach. Instead, he’d set off from London on a whim. He’d chosen the fastest route, meaning to follow the coast to the house of a friend. But he’d only encountered treacherous riding and changeable weather. He pulled his cloak tight around him and spurred his horse toward the building on the road ahead. The faded sign above the door said Ostel an Lusow. He struggled with the little Cornish he knew—Ostel meant it was an inn of some sort. An Lusow… Something about fire, he thought, although there was no picture on the sign to confirm the fact. A bit of bright paint on the board might have given a weary traveler a feeling of welcome. Everything about the place…the overgrown yard, the dark stone walls, the tightly shuttered windows, the dilapidated stable attached to it—seemed to say that outsiders were neither needed nor wanted. But it was better than nothing, and he doubted that fortune would give him a second chance at shelter before the rains came. So he dismounted and called for a stable boy to take his horse. When there was no answer to his cry, he walked the beast through the open doors of the barn himself. A few ill-treated cart horses occupied the dirty stalls with no sign of anyone to tend them. So Jack cleaned a place for his mount, forked some fresh bedding onto the floor and filled the bins with feed and water. His horse gave him an evil stare, as if in comment on the poor surroundings. “Better here than outside, Ajax. And it is only for a night. In consolation, I am likely to get no better treatment inside than you do here.” He left the stable, and went out into the courtyard. A flash of something pale in an upper window caught Jack’s eye and he looked up. Wavering in the square of glass above him was the ghostly face of a girl. He blinked and looked again. Nothing ghostly about her. Just unexpected to see something so lovely in such a grim place as this. She was pale-skinned and golden-haired, dressed in a gown of lavender satin trimmed with lace. It was far from appropriate to the season or the location. But her beauty made him remember easier times. Good wine, fine dinners, dancing in gilded ballrooms, huge blue eyes smiling up into his and the sound of feminine laughter.
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But the lovely face above him now held such sadness that without thinking, he reached a hand out, as if to offer comfort. Suddenly, the vision disappeared, as though it had never been.
Chapter Two Could the girl in the window have been a trick of the fading light? Jack laughed at his own foolishness. More likely she had been insulted by his staring, or had merely extinguished her candle to prepare for bed unobserved by the voyeur in the courtyard. He passed a moment in fancy at what he might have discovered had she left him the light. Her body would have skin as creamy white as her complexion. And if he had found his way to her room for further investigation…. She would be scented with delicate perfume, velvet to touch and sweet to taste. Then he gave a bitter snort. She was exactly the sort of woman who had spurned the honorable advances of a penniless second son two years ago. He had gone to war and made his fortune—but if she thought a retired cavalryman with a pocket full of gold was a better catch, then she had little right to be shocked at the lurid turn a man’s mind could take. The first raindrops hit Jack and he whistled as he hurried the last steps, bursting through the door of the inn and into the public room. Shaking the water from his oilskin, he made his way to a corner table. Without looking up, he called to the barmaid he knew must be close by. “Bring me ale, Molly. Or Polly. Or Maggie. Whatever your name might be. And dinner. And I will need a room, as well. I swear the weather is not fit for a beast.” He was met with dead silence and an air of suspicion that hung thick like the tobacco smoke clouding the low ceiling. It made his skin prickle in warning. A normal inn would be full of maids calling out orders; the clink of glass and rattle of cutlery; the laughter of drunkards and good-natured complaints about the weather, the crops and the crown. There should be the smell of meat roasting, fresh bread and ale. And a feeling of hospitality, for what good was an inn that did not want travelers? But when he glanced around this room, he was met with frowns and narrowed eyes. The clientele were sullen men with the leathery skin of fishermen and sailors, the sort of men who seemed out of place on land. They were motionless, except for the few still puffing on their long clay pipes. All present watched his every move in dead silence. At last, the man behind the bar muttered something in rapid and unintelligible Cornish. The room seemed to relax and return—as though by command—to their drinks and cards. Clearly this was the sort of tavern where one must watch one’s back and one’s purse. The rogues here did not look like they had come together just to enjoy a cup of punch and camaraderie by the pub fire. There was mischief afoot, and Jack had stumbled into the middle of it. Some part of him thrilled at the thought of a fight—before he reminded himself that he’d left that all behind in Portugal and come home for a peaceful life. Instead of calling for dinner and a room, a wiser course of action might be to excuse himself, saddle his horse and continue down the road. But it might be miles before he found another inn, and he had no wish to travel further. So he pretended to relax in his chair, never letting his smile falter. It did not pay to show fear to a gang of wild dogs. Still, his hand dropped into his pocket to finger the pistol he kept there.
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A girl came hurrying out from a door behind the bar, tying on an apron. She drew a tankard, carried it across the room and set it before him. “Joy, sir.” “Eh?” he responded in confusion, for it was a curious greeting. He tossed coins on the table for payment and then looked up into the face of the barmaid. And was stunned to silence. The girl from the window? Surely not. The coloring was right, though. Wisps of gold hair poked from under the cap she wore. But he had seen an elegant lady in lavender. This was a tavern wench, in a plain brown dress of a rough fabric. There was nothing exceptional about her. But in another life, she might have been the girl upstairs. “My name,” she said softly, not meeting his eyes as she took the coins and thrust them into the pocket of her apron. “It is not Polly, or Maggie. It is Joy.”
Chapter Three “Joy,” he repeated. The name did not suit her, for he doubted there was a less joyful person in all of Cornwall. But if he could make her smile, it would be worth the effort, for she had a lovely face, even in sorrow. “Sweet Joy I call thee,” he teased, remembering a line from a poem. “You know Blake?” For a moment, her expression brightened to a radiance that justified her naming. “You know the poet as well.” He blinked in surprise. “It is not often I have the opportunity to discuss poetry with a barmaid.” The smile disappeared again as she cast a quick, worried glance in the direction of the man behind the bar. “Only the one poem, sir. My father taught me.” “How do you do, then, pretty Joy? My name is Jack Kendall.” He pushed out the chair beside him. “Sit with me and keep me company. I will teach you more poetry, if you wish.” Although the verses on his mind now were far less innocent than the Blake—she was a comely thing, with large eyes, full breasts and lips made for kissing. And it had been a long and lonely trip. She did not seem to notice his flirting, but seemed more concerned with the reaction of the innkeeper to her tarrying. Jack saw the barman give a slight nod. The girl caught the signal then smiled at Jack and accepted his offer. But once she was seated she looked worried, as if she did not know what he expected of her. He smiled to put her at her ease. “It is a relief to find someone who can speak English. For a moment, I was feeling quite out of place.” She glanced around the room, then whispered, “They can all speak English, when they care to. And they understand it as well.” He could not tell if it was an innocent remark, or a warning. “Well, then I am glad that you cared enough to speak it, for you have made a lonely traveler feel welcome. And do you speak Cornish? For you can tell me the name of this place, so that I might recommend it to my friends.” She stared in amazement at his words before recognizing it as a joke and stifled a smile. “You have come to the Inn of Ashes, sir.” She saw his look of surprise at the dour name, and supplied, “The last inn burnt. And this was built…”
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“On the ashes,” he finished. “It is well named, for this place is as grim as an ash heap. With such a name, why would anyone stop here?” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “We do not get much custom. Especially not this time of year.” “The fall?” “Allantide.” He shrugged. “A local holiday, isn’t it? Something to do with putting an apple under your pillow to dream of a husband? Or perhaps a prince? For if you work in ashes, then I think you must be that cinder girl with the glass slippers under your bed.” Perhaps he was mistaken and this was not the girl he had seen in the window. Or perhaps she had been dressing up in her mistress’s clothes and did not want him to reveal what he had seen. Regardless, there was pain and embarrassment in her huge blue eyes now and he had put it there. Jack reached out a hand to touch her arm in reassurance so she would know her secret was safe. She looked surprised at his gentle touch. Then she shook her head and said earnestly, “It is All Hallows’ Eve, as well, sir. And it is unwise to take that lightly. Things are about. Especially so close to the coast.” “What sorts of things might those be?” “Spirits, sir. Things that lie quiet most times are walking the earth tonight. Dead sailors come to land. Knockers and Selkies, pictsies bent on tricking an unwary traveler off the path and over the cliff to drown.” She shuddered. “It would be safer for you to move inland. Those that do not have to would not wish to stay the night under this roof.”
Chapter Four “I should run away because of the ghosts.” Jack laughed in disbelief. “I am quite comfortable here, thank you, love. It is warm and dry. And while your ale is not the best, it is good enough for the likes of me. Tomorrow I shall press on to Penlowen, and I wish to be rested for the trip.” “Penlowen, sir?” Her eyes grew even rounder. “That is where the Mad Lord lives.” “Mad Lord?” he started in surprise. “You can’t be talking of Dick Acherton. We were comrades in arms. I suppose he is a lord, with that great house of his, but I would never call him mad.” “All the lords of Penlowen are mad, sir. Why else would they stay there?” Jack shook his head. “His madness is as big a country superstition as the dead sailors that you fear will come for me in the night.” “Believe what you will, sir. But I have lived my whole life in Cornwall, and I have seen them. And heard them as well.” She leaned closer until the flickering candlelight made strange shadows on her face. Her voice was low and hoarse, and he could feel the words, leaving a chill on his skin. “The Gray Lady, who sits on the cliff edge, weeping for her lost love. The dying men who wail in the night, louder than the sound of the surf. And the spirit lights, confusing ships to their doom.” He snorted. “There are explanations for all of it. Your gray lady is nothing more than a sea bird. Your dying sailors are the sound of the wind in the caves as the tide is turning. And the spirit lights are smugglers at work—or wreckers—trying to trick ships onto the rocks.” She looked frantically around the room, and held out a hand to hush him.
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He noticed the heads of the men around him turn to catch his words, their bodies shifting in their seats, as though to give access to weapons. “Man or spirit, I am not afraid of what lurks about tonight, little Joy.” And he gave an answering glare to the curious men around him. “Very well then, sir,” she said bitterly. “You may think life is all fairy tales and foolishness. But I know what I have seen. And I know that the forces do not like to be made mock. Heed my warning. Finish your drink and get back on your horse before the moon has risen. Ride inland to safety and forget about this place. But do not think that I will weep for you if you stay. For you have brought your destruction upon your own head.”
Chapter Five Joy left him alone, and it was as if the warmth in the room had gone with her. She went to the kitchen and returned with a meat pie, setting it before him without comment. He took a bite, chewing through the tough crust to the gristly beef within. No matter how pretty the barmaid, if his meal was any indication, people did not stop here for the food. Or the conversation. The few men that shared the public room with him pretended to keep their own company. But he knew better—they were actually intent on keeping his. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw covert hand signals and heard the occasional whisper of Cornish passed quickly around the group. He began to suspect that there was more than a little truth to Joy’s warning of danger. He was traveling alone. If he had fallen into a smuggler’s den, it might be best to move down the coast and insure his own safety. With a glance outside he saw that the weather was turning foul and it would be a long, wet ride to the next inn should he set out now. Still, at least he would be alive in the morning. But there was something else. Something wrong about the place that had nothing to do with the clientele. And he could not bring himself to walk away. For there was a mystery in Joy. How many tavern wenches would have recognized even a word of Blake? Her father had told her the poem? More likely her father had been a barman with no reason or facility to read poetry. And her voice… In the few words they had spoken, her accent could hardly have been called coarse. As she had told the stories of supernatural threat, all traces of simple country girl had disappeared. Her speech was that of an educated woman, as were her mannerisms. So what was she doing here? He finished his ale and walked down the short hall and out the back door to use the privy. Since he was near the stables he checked on Ajax. The fine chestnut that had served him so well in Portugal towered over the dray horses in the other stalls with an air of disdain. Without thinking, Jack stroked its neck, offering an apology as he replaced the saddle. “I expect that we will be leaving suddenly, old friend. And you must be ready for it, even if it means sleeping in tack.” The horse gave a resigned snort, and returned to nosing through the dirty straw for the last of his oats.
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As Jack turned back to the tavern, he found the beautiful barmaid blocking his way. The hall was narrow and dark and she was hurrying towards him from the opposite way. She slowed as she neared him and smiled at him in a way that made his blood warm. For a moment, his fears were forgotten and all that mattered was Joy. Her big blue eyes and trim waist, the way her lips were parted, ready for a kiss. Perhaps he had been mistaken and his sense of foreboding was nothing more than fatigue working on his war-shocked nerves. A second conversation with her would set his mind to rest. And if she was interested in a more intimate meeting, he was more than willing to remain at the inn and oblige her. As she drew near to him, he reached out and pulled her to his body. She came easily into his arms, so close that he could feel the beating of her heart as it matched pace with his. Even their breathing was in harmony, quick and shallow from the first rush of desire roused by physical contact. He put his cheek to hers so he could whisper into her ear. “I swear, Joy, you are sweeter than any poem. If you can find the rhythm of my body with a single touch, then what might you do to me if I kiss you?” Her response was soft but matter of fact. “I will do anything you wish, sir. As long as you promise me that you will not stay the night under this roof. There is danger here. You must leave immediately.”
Chapter Six “Girl!” The barman’s voice was sharp and urgent. He stood at the end of the hall, arms folded, with an expression that said the devil was to pay if Joy did not do as he asked. So Jack forced a laugh and planted a kiss on Joy’s unresisting lips before pushing her away. Offering a silent prayer of apology, he gave her a swat on the bottom to send her back into the bar. It hurt him when she flinched at the touch instead of giving the saucy giggle that he would have expected from a normal barmaid. Had he misunderstood her warm response a moment before? But her sudden change in mood was just one more thing out of place. The feel of her pressed against him had been delightful, though odd. Her body was sleek and graceful, not plump and solid like most barmaids he had met. It reminded him of the brief touches he’d received dancing with fine ladies in London ballrooms. The arms that had held him just now did not show the strength gained from a lifetime of tapping kegs or carrying tankards. And she smelled not of stale sweat, beer and sausages, but of lilacs. What were spring flowers doing in a Cornish inn at this time of year? He touched his hand to the pistol again for reassurance. Then he gave a grin and a shrug to the barman, as though to prove that there were no hard feelings. He added an unnecessary weave to his gait as he returned to the table to show he was naught but a harmless drunk. But Jack continued to watch—through hooded eyes—as the girl went to the bar to deliver the rags she had been carrying. The barman grabbed her by the upper arm, pulling her close as Jack had done and spoke quickly into her averted face. She gave a small shake of the head. The man spoke again more insistently. Jack could see the fingers tightening on the girl’s arm. She flinched and shook her head, adamant. Did the man mean to punish her for the liberty Jack had taken? Jack couldn’t let her be harmed for his behavior. “Ale!” Jack called, and slammed his empty tankard against the table as a distraction. “What must a
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man do to get service in this benighted hole? Barman, send the girl to me, or I will think after the answer that she gave in the hall that my company is not good enough for her.” The barman laughed then, as did several of the other patrons. Apparently the words had been right, for he released Joy and thrust a mug into her hand, murmuring something in her ear and pushing her towards Jack. Jack leered in her direction so that his interest in her would seem rooted in lust. She came to him, steps leaden, with none of the willingness she’d shown in the hall. As she neared, she seemed to stumble and the contents of the cup spilled, splashing against his boots and onto the floor. “So sorry, sir.” She said it quickly, and reached for the cloth at her apron to clean up the mess. But the look in her eyes was relief, not sorrow. In a flash, the barman was across the room and upon them, his hand raised to strike her.
Chapter Seven Jack seized the man by the arm with one hand and caught the girl about the waist with the other, pulling her out of range of the blow. “Here now, sir. Such violence is hardly necessary.” He grinned into the florid face of the enraged barman. “Maybe it is for the best. The night is late, and I am tired. I do not need another drink to help me sleep.” He felt the tension go out of the muscle under his fingers, and Jack released the man’s arm, watching him lower it to his side. Jack reached into his pocket and found a coin to toss onto the table that more than covered the cost of the spilled ale. Deciding to keep playing the lecherous-drunk routine, he turned to the girl, still in his grasp on the other side, and bounced her body against his hip. “And how could I be angry for long at such a charming waitress? Give us a kiss, Joy, and all is forgiven.” He expected a light slap in return for the comment, or perhaps a giggle and bawdy remark. Instead, he watched the girl’s eyes dart to the barman for instruction, and saw an almost imperceptible nod of response. Only then did she turn to give Jack a cold kiss upon the cheek. It sickened him to see her look to the brute for guidance after he had almost struck her. What power did the man hold over her? Why did she behave so strangely in his presence? And how could Jack be sure he was not making her life harder through his interference? For now, it would be best to put her master at ease. So Jack laughed as though he had noticed nothing odd in the girl’s behavior, and released her. “There.” Instantly he felt the hostility in the room diminish to the low hum of menace that he had begun to take as normal at the Inn of Ashes. “Now go about your business, dear.” With a worried glance, she went back behind the bar, leaving him alone with his host. The proprietor was standing over him, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. He shifted his bulk from foot to foot, and then gave a deferential bow of his head to acknowledge his “betters.” Jack suppressed a sneer. It was plain that the man meant none of it. There was bile in his eye at having to debase himself to any man, much less this stranger in his inn. He was still angry over the spilled drink and the need to apologize for it was driving that anger near to rage. But if the barman wished to pretend subservience, than why should Jack spoil the game? “No worries, my good man. I assure you, I am content. You may go as well.”
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He could see a flash in the man’s eye, for the dismissal was near to insult. “Are you enjoying the service here this evening, sir?” Jack thought of the foul ale, the even fouler meal and the chances that he’d be better off sleeping with Ajax than trusting the beds. But he gave a nod of satisfaction. “Indeed I am. On a night such as this, it is good to be out of the rain. Thank you, sir, for your hospitality.” “I am sorry it cannot be better. But we do not get many strangers down this road. It has been several months, at least, since we’ve seen such as you.” The man gave him a sly smile. “But there are things that will make your stay more comfortable, I’m sure. I’ve given you something to warm your belly. But if you’d be interested in something to warm your bed…?” He winked and cocked his head in Joy’s direction. “She’s yours for a guinea.”
Chapter Eight Before Jack could respond to the innkeeper’s vulgar offer of the sweet Joy, the man continued, as if he feared offending a guest: “For a guinea you can have the girl and the room. Plus the dinner, of course.” Not her. Not this way. The supper roiled in Jack’s stomach. He glanced at Joy working behind the bar, pretending to be oblivious to the conversation. It was small comfort to think that the inn got no custom, for if the owner would throw her so casually into the equation to entertain a guest… And what was the man to her? Merely an employer? Or was he her father? Or perhaps a lover… Each thought made him sicker than the last. His first impulse was to strike the man, tell him his offer was as vile as his inn and to leave the place and let the cold rain wash him clean of the stench of it. But where would that leave Joy? Bargained away to the next man to wander through the door? Or punished for the loss of his custom. At least if she spent the night in Jack’s arms, he would know that nothing worse would happen to her while he remained under this roof. So he fought down his revulsion and turned to look at Joy, letting the desire he felt for her show upon his face so that the innkeeper might think he was persuaded. He examined her critically, as though he were purchasing a horse—admiring the fine shape of her, the softness of her skin and the curve of her throat. Then he turned back to the innkeeper and said, “A half guinea. The girl is young and tender, but the meat pie was old and tough and not worth a shilling.” The innkeeper let out a roar of laughter and Jack saw Joy flinch. He felt a resurgence of the sick feeling; he was sure that she’d heard every word he said. When she raised her head to look at him there was disappointment in her eyes, as though he’d confirmed her worst fears: all men were brutes. Any sweet dreams she might have had tonight with an apple under her pillow were little better than nightmares once that truth was confirmed. The innkeeper countered Jack’s offer, “For a pound, I will throw in a bottle. Finest in the house. Worth at least that, sir. All by itself.” And he held out a bottle of French brandy, as out of place in this inn as Joy was. Jack gave the innkeeper a toothy grin and said, “How can I resist such generosity?” And then, because he could not help himself, he added, “But only if the girl is willing, of course.” He was still half praying that she would strike him and flounce out of the room. But the innkeeper said, “She will do as she’s told, won’t you girl?”
Chapter Nine
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Joy made no response, other than a slight tightening of her jaw that seemed to say that what happened mattered very little to her. “Go on, now. Show the man you like him.” The innkeeper stalked across the room and hauled Joy from behind the bar, giving her a shove in Jack’s direction. She stumbled across the room and fell against him. He caught her before she could hit the ground, pulling her against his body and giving her the kind of overly familiar embrace that brought another wicked chuckle from the men in the room. Joy disengaged herself from Jack and smoothed her skirts. She looked up at him and the tavern wench disappeared. The posture of the woman before him was as elegant as any lady of the ton, and her expression was filled with venom and ice. She stared through him with the utter contempt that was the only appropriate answer for an insult as base as the one he had given her. Then she marched back to the bar, snatched the bottle of brandy from the innkeeper’s hand and turned back to Jack as though daring him to repeat his offer. He smiled at her hopefully, as though oblivious to her response. With that one smile, Joy’s spirit broke, her head drooping, her shoulders slumped. It was obvious that being with him tonight was the last thing she wished, but she nodded in assent. Jack turned to the man and gave another grin. “It is a bargain, then.” He let out a theatrical yawn. “And now, I believe I am ready to retire. Suddenly, I am unaccountably tired.” The room was filled with knowing laughter. The innkeeper said, “Your room will be the last one on the right.” Joy spoke for the first time. “That is my room.” “It is cleanest.” There was a pause, and Jack saw the rage in her eyes as she registered this further indignity. But then she dropped a curtsy and gave a strange, hopeless smile. “Very well, then. Because milord needs clean sheets.” The face of the innkeeper darkened, as if he wished to punish her for her impudence but would not do it before witnesses. Just as quickly, his false smile returned and he said to Jack, “She will join you there as soon as her duties are completed.” Jack gave a farewell salute to the assembled and pushed back his chair, walking across the room and up the stairs. As he climbed, he could feel many pairs of eyes upon his back. It went against the grain to turn his back upon the enemy. But he suspected that there were men in the room who might object to seeing murder done in front of them. The presence of witnesses was the only thing that had kept him alive so far. Though Jack knew they probably cared not what happened to a traveler once he was upstairs and out of their sight. But it was an advantage he was willing to forfeit for a chance alone with Joy.
Chapter Ten Jack followed the instructions to the room at the end of the hall and opened the door, curious to see what the lair of the mysterious Joy might be. Her room was meticulously clean but bare of adornments. A few dresses hung from the pegs on the wall: ragged silks and crumpled satins, worn, but far too fine for a tavern wench.
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In the midst of them was the lavender gown he had seen her wearing in the window. He closed the door and walked to it, reaching out a finger to touch the fabric. It had seen better days, but there had been efforts at mending. Here and there he found tiny darning stitches picked into the lace, though it seemed that after many nights of trying, the owner had given it up as a bad job. He wondered at the unnamed emotion that kept her from throwing the thing away even though she could not wear it. The few other items in the room were also of good quality but worn almost to pieces. A water-stained Bible rested on a chair near the bed. A small table held a tarnished bit of mirror, a dented silver hair brush and a tiny bottle with a cracked stopper. He smiled, for he was sure if he opened it, it would smell like French lilacs in spring. On impulse, he went to the bed and thrust his hand under the pillow. Just as he expected, there was an Allantide apple. His throat tightened as he imagined the dreams of the girl that lived in this room—a lady, miles away from the tavern below. Even though he meant no harm to her, his presence here was a violation. There was a sound at the door. Joy entered, bottle of brandy in hand. Her head was bowed, but she came toward him with a steady pace, as though she was unsure of what his intentions might be, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. He could not maintain the charade a moment longer. He said, in a loud clear voice so there could be no mistaking his feelings, “Now what is this nonsense—” She threw herself into his arms, stopping his words with a desperate kiss. For a moment, he forgot all but the taste of her—which he suspected was the plan all along. She had been right; there was danger here. But she was part of the trap. She was passionate but awkward, as though she knew what it was to be kissed, but not well. She showed no subtly at all, as though seduction was a skill unwanted and unneeded, and tenderness in return unexpected. The wantonness of her eager, open mouth made his body scream for a quick release. But the artlessness of her surrender tore the heart from his body. She deserved better. So he gathered his wits and took control of the kiss from her. He turned it into what he thought she deserved, making it slow and soulful. He resisted the urge to devour the sweetness that she offered. Instead, he coaxed and teased, and let each touch of his tongue to hers be a promise that she would receive nothing other than gentleness and pleasure if only she would give herself over to his care. After a time, she pulled away from him slowly as though she longed to stay in his arms but suspected that a stranger’s kiss was as big a trap as hers had been. Then she reached out and carefully laid her palm flat against his chest so that she could feel the beating of his heart. By the look in her eyes, he was sure that she felt what had thrilled him in the hallway: their two hearts beating as one. When he tried to speak again, she laid a finger on his lips and whispered, “Please, Jack. Not so loud. They will hear. For all I know, they are listening at the door.” “Quiet, then,” he answered, keeping her close and ignoring the pleasure it brought. “Tell me the truth. What is happening here, and what have you to do with it?”
Chapter Eleven Joy held the bottle of brandy out to him. “Drugged. As was the drink in the bar that I spilled. It was a mistake on my part. If you’d taken it they might have left you to sleep in the public room, or thrown you out into the
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stable yard as a jest. But now that they have you above stairs where no one can see what happens? They mean to rob you and slit your throat.” “That does not surprise me in the least. But what does it have to do with you? Who are you, Joy?” Her eyes fell. “Who I am does not matter. I am of no consequence.” “And I say you are. Who are you, and how came you to this place?” “You must leave….” “Tell me, or I will not move an inch.” He tightened his embrace, as if to prove his unwillingness to part from her. Her eyes closed and her brow furrowed. He thought he would have to ask again, for the truth seemed to be having as difficult a time escaping her lips as he would. But finally she said, “It was just as you suspected in the bar. The men below are rogues and criminals. There is no law in these parts, and they make their living smuggling goods from France and luring English ships onto the rocks so that they might plunder them.” “And you?” “My name is Joy Colliver. My uncle had a pleasure boat. It was a small craft but trim and beautiful. We went to sea on a lovely day, but we were caught in a sudden storm. It grew dark and the lights from shore were not the helpful beacons the crew expected. There was no warning of the rocks until we were upon them. And the men who rowed out to help us?” She shuddered. “They were not help, at all. They were wreckers. Scavengers. I do not know what became of my uncle and the others, but I saw the leader, Tallack—the innkeeper—shoot the captain.” “But you survived?” She smiled bitterly. “Because I was more valuable than the cargo.” For a moment he felt her falter. “I have tried to get away. Truly, I have. But it is many miles to help, and they always catch me. After the last time, Tallack said that if I tried again they would most assuredly kill me.” Impulsively, he pulled her even closer, ready to kiss away the tears which he thought would come. But her eyes were dry. It was as though any tears on the subject had been shed long ago and there was nothing left in her that could cry. Then she straightened, making it clear that she was not a soft, yielding girl ready to give over her burden to another, but a resolute, iron-willed warrior. “After my attempts to warn you below stairs, Tallack said that if I did not do my part in trapping you, in the morning he would have two bodies to dispose of, not just the one. But what happens to me does not matter anymore. I cannot let an innocent man be hurt.” He laughed, soft against her skin. Without thinking, his hands moved on her body to caress her. “Oh, my darling. I am not so innocent as all that.” For a moment she looked frightened. But then she said, “I refuse to believe that, sir. For I have seen true evil. And you are nothing like it.” He saw the shadows in her eyes that hinted at what she had suffered in the captivity of scoundrels. But even despite the cruelty she knew they could inflict, the firm set of her jaw said that she intended to put herself between him and the danger. Jack felt a rage, darker and more powerful than any he had known in battle. But he hid it in another laugh and took her hand, bowing over it. “Thank you, Miss Colliver, for your assessment of my character. For you,
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I will be a veritable Galahad.” He looked into her eyes. “But I assure you, blameless is quite different from harmless. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Chapter Twelve He released Joy and went to the window, staring down at the sharp and deadly drop to the steep slate roof of the attached stable. If he were alone he would not fear the climb. But he doubted the girl could manage in skirts if they were forced to rush their escape. “What was to happen, after I was incapacitated?” “I was to signal the man at the door and he would finish you.” “And how many are there in total?” She frowned. “You cannot trust any that are below in the inn. If you cry out, they will not help. But most of them do not have the nerve for cold-blooded murder, and there are only four that you must worry about. Tallack, the innkeeper, is their leader. If you can stop them the others will be too afraid to pursue.” “Equally matched, then.” He smiled at her in encouragement. “For I have you by my side, and you are worth three of them.” For just a moment, she smiled back. It put a touch of girlish color in her cheeks. He nodded at the improvement, then opened the brandy and poured it into the chamber pot under the bed. Then he threw back the covers and arranged himself on the mattress. “Very well. You have rendered me helpless. Do what you must.” He shut his eyes to slits and waited. She froze in horror at the prospect, so he opened his eyes and gave her a smile of reassurance. She bit her lip and shook her head, making no move toward the door. So he shut his eyes again, flopped back on the bed and let out a mockery of a wine-induced snore. This time she almost laughed—before she remembered the circumstances and gave him another worried look. But she did as he asked and opened the door a crack, whispering out into the hall. One of the ruffians from the bar pushed past her into the room, and gave a contemptuous nod in the direction of the bed. She was a clever girl, for without instruction she checked the hallway for a second man and, finding none, she shut the door and trapped the smuggler inside. Oblivious, the man hovered over Jack for an instant. Then the ogre gave a soft laugh of triumph, pulled a knife from his belt and came within striking range. Jack brought up his hand and the brandy bottle connected with the man’s head. He staggered and dropped the blade. There was a moment where the man teetered on the edge of unconsciousness and Jack wondered if the one blow might be sufficient. If he could escape without taking life… But the smuggler was struggling back to his feet. Jack thought of the girl, grabbed the knife and showed him no mercy. Then he rolled the body onto the floor and looked with concern at Joy. She was staring at what had happened without emotion. Jack could tell from the look in her eyes that she had seen and experienced enough violence to leave her numb to things that might devastate another. It made him ache inside. He wished he could take that burden of knowledge she must bear.
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But all he could do was take her in his arms and turn her gently away from the body, slipping an arm around her shoulder. She laid her cheek against his lapel and relaxed against him, honoring him with her trust. His heart warmed to it, pride glowing in him like a lit candle, and he knew he would give all he had to keep that lovely blond head resting against his shoulder, safe and at peace. But in an instant, the moment of vulnerability passed and she lifted her head, squared her shoulders and looked at Jack with concern. “You must go, now. Quickly. Before the others discover what has happened.”
Chapter Thirteen “An escape from the window is in order, I think.” Jack grinned at Joy, hoping to give encouragement lest she be afraid of the climb. “Help me with the bed linens. I mean to make a rope.” He wiped the blade as she pulled the sheets from the bed, and they quickly spliced the fabric together into a serviceable rope with knots at intervals for footholds. Next he secured it to the bed frame and gave a tug, testing it with his weight. He would hardly need to use it, but if it held him then it was more than strong enough to hold a slip of a girl. He glanced outside, searching the courtyard for observers. Then he coiled the linen and threw its stark whiteness into the dark night air. He readied himself on the windowsill, thinking to reach the ground first and steady the rope as Joy climbed down. Joy checked the door again, listening for noise, and then came to him, kissing him quickly on the lips. “Godspeed, Jack Kendall. If they come too quickly, I will claim that you tricked me with the brandy and overpowered the guard. I will raise such a hue and cry that you will hear it all the way to the stables and know that danger is on the way.” “You will…” He cursed under his breath. So she meant to make a noble sacrifice for him, did she? Somehow, the idea that she thought—even for a moment—that he would abandon her bothered him more than the danger of discovery. So he hopped back off the window sill and made an expansive gesture to the rope. “My apologies. I have forgotten my manners. Ladies first.” The words seemed to sting her as much as her lack of faith had him. “Do not mock me. We both know what I have become and the term is not lady. I have risked everything for you, and it will all be for naught if you cannot escape. Now climb down the damn rope and leave me.” “Perhaps, when we have more time, I will teach you to curse with enough conviction to convince me. But that half hearted damn you just gave is more than enough evidence of your gentility. You are very much a lady, Miss Colliver, and in need of my assistance. We will be leaving here together or I will not leave at all. Now, come here and take a look at the climb.” He ignored her militant expression and looked at her feet. “Let us see your shoes. Hmmmm. It will probably be better without. Put them into your apron pocket. And this as well.” He handed her the knife he had taken from the smuggler. “But you—” “I have a pistol, primed and ready. The window is an excellent vantage point, should I need to use it.” And would make him an easy target should anyone shoot back. But it would not persuade her if he mentioned that, so he smiled again, as though leaving her room by the window would be the most natural thing in the world.
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“Now place your feet against the knots or brace them against the stone of the building. Only you will know what feels most secure. Do not rush. Wait for me on the roof of the stable. And if, in future, you wish to kiss someone for luck, do it thusly.” He pulled her close….
Chapter Fourteen Jack gave vent to all the sweet longing he felt for the woman she was and the girl she had been. He put his lips upon hers and she opened eagerly to him so that he could taste her tongue and kiss away her doubts. She was sweet perfection, but if he was not careful, passion would leave him headless of the present danger and neither of them would escape. So he eased away from her, brushing his lips over her face and nuzzling her throat. Then he pulled the cap from her head to let the beautiful golden hair fall free, stroking it gently as he longed to touch her body. He held her tight, feeling the ripe curves of her body soft against his. She shuddered in response, hungry for the few scraps of genuine affection he offered. And then, sweet merciful heaven, her hands were on his face, drawing his mouth back to hers. She was kissing him in return. She was not content just to receive pleasure, but wished to give it back to him as he had taught her. Joy’s fingers trembled as she stroked his cheek and his hair, as though she could hardly believe that what she felt was real and feared her own response to it. But he could feel the certainty growing in her, moment by moment, as her kiss grew in passion. What began as kitten-soft touches of her tongue grew bolder. She nipped at his lips and thrust her tongue deep into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck and fingers digging into the muscles of his back and shoulders. She was unable to hide her desire, not just for freedom, but for him. She broke the kiss and pushed away from him. Jack saw a single tear clinging to her lashes. She hurried to brush it away, as though any display of emotion was a sign of weakness. Trying to make her tone gruff, she said: “If climbing out of this window is the only way to make you leave, then I suppose it must be done. At least when I fall and break my neck I shall not have to see what becomes of you once the smugglers catch you.” Then she did as he suggested, removed her shoes, took the knife and stowed them both in her apron. Jack held his breath as she grabbed the rope and stepped over the edge of the windowsill. There was a moment when she first took all her weight upon her arms that he feared he would lose her. The climb was unfamiliar and the rain would make her clothes heavy and her fingers cold. He saw her slip, but then she gritted her teeth and tightened her hands on the sheet, scrambling until her feet found toeholds in the stone wall of the inn. There was a pause as she gathered courage. Then she lowered herself a few inches, and a few more. She descended at a slow but regular pace to the wet slates of the stable. She slipped once on the sharply slanted roof, but she found her footing again and turned up to him, a smile of triumph on her beautiful face. Jack smiled in response and blew her a kiss. Then he took hold of the rope and stepped over the sill himself. He tried to ignore the cold and the water trickling down the back of his neck. It would not do to let Joy see him hesitate. He was only a few feet from the window when he heard a cry from the ground below. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the smugglers, three of them, gathered in the stable yard and pointing up at him. They had not yet seen Joy, for her dark clothes blended with the stone wall. She shrank back against the building, letting the edge of the roof shield her from view of the men below. He ignored the cries of, “Shoot him, get the guns!” and hurried his decent. If he could not reach the roof before they shot, there was no hope for him.
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As he descended lower, he willed Joy not to move, no matter what might happen to him. There was still a chance for her if she kept quiet and hidden until the smugglers had gotten him. Ajax was saddled and ready; she had but to go to the barn, find him and climb on. The horse would take her to safety and Jack’s effort would not be in vain. Suddenly, there was a burst of activity. He heard Joy cry out, the sound of scrambling and more cries from below. Then a single shot.
Chapter Fifteen The gunshot sounded like a thunderclap and Jack tensed, waiting for the ball to strike him down. But he felt nothing, heard no singing of lead or impact on the stone around him. Which meant they had seen Joy and fired upon her instead. The knowledge brought a sickening fear worse than any he had felt in Portugal. He dropped the last few feet to the roof, ready to come to her aid. But when he turned, she was already on the ground and running for the woods. Jack temporarily forgotten, the smugglers turned on her, enraged at her betrayal. Tallack was sprinting over the wet grass in pursuit, and another man had raised his pistol in her direction. Jack fought the desire to follow her; she was running so swiftly and was already so far away that he doubted he’d be able to catch her before the smuggler did. He could not help her until he got to his horse. Still he damned himself for his uselessness that she might face Tallack alone. He looked down into the stable yard at the two remaining smugglers. The first shot had missed her, but she might not be so lucky a second time. Before the man with the gun had a chance to aim, Jack pulled his own pistol from his coat and shot. He watched as the man collapsed without firing. Then he slid down the slates toward the edge of the roof, bracing himself for the drop at the end. He landed in a heap in the dirt of the inn yard, jumping up immediately to face the last smuggler as he rushed at Jack. Jack had but a moment to offer a prayer of thanks that the other man didn’t have a gun or knife. As the criminal reached him, Jack punched him in the stomach. His enemy doubled over, gasping, and Jack struck him in the temple with the spent pistol in his other hand. The smuggler collapsed, unconscious in the mud of the stable yard. Giving no more thought to the man at his feet, Jack turned to face the woods, his heart in his throat. Joy had run that way. How far could she have gotten before Tallack caught up with her? She was light and fast and he must trust that she could outrun the man, at least for a while. As he sprinted for the stable door, he whistled to Ajax, who gave a shrill whinny in answer and began kicking against the boards, ready to break down the stall and charge into action. He envied the stallion’s confidence—Lord only knew how he would find the girl. It was dark and spitting rain, and he did not know the land. But he had to try. He mounted and rode at a gallop towards the spot he had last glimpsed her golden hair.
Chapter Sixteen
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As Joy ran for the woods, she heard the sound of the bullet whistling past her head, striking the wood of a nearby tree. Terror rose, thick in her blood, threatening to blot out reason. She stumbled, catching at the branches of a nearby tree to regain her balance. A thorn scratched at her finger, and the sharp sting of it was like a tonic to her nerves. Suddenly, she could feel the grass, wet and slippery under her bare feet, and taste the damp, salty air in her mouth and stinging her lungs. Her senses sharpened. The world around her became more real than the nightmare she was leaving behind her. She smiled. No matter what might happen tonight, the worst was finally over for her. She would run for the cliff and be over the edge before they could stop her. She could hear the shouting behind her and the sound of Tallack yelling to his men to get Jack. Another shot. Tallack’s swearing grew louder and closer as he followed her. If she could, she would take the smuggler over the edge with her as she fell and see an end to him. She would have revenge as well as freedom. In either case, the distraction of her flight would buy Jack enough time to get down off the roof. If he gained the ground, she was sure that he could take care of himself. She felt a moment’s regret that she would never know what happened to the man behind her. She could picture him besting the remaining smugglers and riding away on the fearsome horse she had seen when he arrived. After watching him in action tonight, it was impossible to believe that he might die. As she ran, she imagined so much more. That her life was the one she had been dreaming of when he’d spied her in the window. The way it used to be…. Jack would meet her in a drawing room or at a dance. He would choose her over all the other girls and behave with the same rakish gallantry he had shown tonight. He would flatter her until she blushed and shepherd her through the modest risks of a London season until he won her heart. Was he a good dancer, Joy wondered? She would never know. But she imagined he must be, or how could he sweep her from her feet? He had stepped perfectly formed from her Allantide fantasy. Of course, her dreams had been too mild to include kisses…. She came back to her senses quickly. She was well past the clearing and into the woods. But she could still hear Tallack crashing through the branches behind her. Her feet were cut by the rough ground beneath them and her side ached from running. But it could not be much longer. Either she would find the cliff or Tallack would catch her. Joy fought back the fear that had begun to rise again and fumbled for the knife in her pocket.
Chapter Seventeen Once he was past the clearing and into the trees, Jack could only guess the route Joy had taken for there was no path. It was unlikely that she’d have followed one anyway, even if it was there. He forced his doubts aside. She was too smart to be caught so easily. And she was strong as well. Joy would evade Tallack until he could help her. He would dispense with the cretin, pull Joy up into the saddle, and carry her to safety. He would take her far, far away from this place—ride to the ends of the earth, if that was what she wanted.
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But by God he would see her smile again. And if he was fortunate, there would be other kisses like the one she had given him. If that could be their future, then he would make it his life’s mission to banish the demons from her past. But first he had to find her. Perhaps she was hiding near the edge of the forest, waiting until Tallack tired of the chase. Jack slowed and called her name softly into the darkness, and waited for an answer. In the distance there was a fleeting sound. High-pitched. Feminine. In daylight, he’d have taken it for the call of a bird. But what bird would still be singing in the dark and the storm? So he rode toward the noise. As he went, he could hear the sea, louder than before. The wind in his face was wet and tasted of salt, not just the rain that had been falling. He must go carefully. Who knew when the trees might open up to reveal a cliff face and empty air? The sound came again. It was clearer this time. Unmistakable. The cry of a woman in danger. Frightened, frustrated and alone. An eerie shriek of terror dissolved into hopeless sobbing. The hairs rose on the back of his neck, and Jack was shaken to the core with the feeling that the crying woman was already beyond help. It was too late to save her. He had failed. He fought the sudden, irrational terror. If Joy still cried, there was time. But she was in mortal danger, and he could only help if he did not give way to despair. He spurred his horse to the noise, which seemed to grow louder with each step, drowning out the storm and the sound of surf striking rock. It rang in his head until he thought it would drive him mad. If he could not save her, he would spend the rest of his life hearing that scream and those sobs, knowing that he had been the cause of them. He had led Joy to her death and been unable to protect her as he had promised. Jack swallowed his fear and dug his heels into the sides of his horse, spurring Ajax on toward the cliffs. The wailing pressed against them like a living thing, trying to push them back. His horse strained against it, winded as though he had been running uphill, and Jack cursed the poor beast to urge him on. If they hurried, there could still be rescue. But if not? Then by God there would be vengeance.
Chapter Eighteen Joy hitched up her skirts, fought down the fear and ran faster, trying to blot out the pains in her body and the terror of her circumstances with thoughts of Jack. He was better than dreams. For in reality, there had been those beautiful kisses. Although she had learned far too much about too many things while at An Lusow, Jack’s kisses had come from a wondrous place, far outside of her experience. They made her feel light and strong, gentle and small, scared and safe, and a hundred other things at once. Were all kisses meant to be this way, or was it just because they had come from Jack Kendall?
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She might never know. But she was glad that she had received them before it was too late. Before Jack, she had begun to believe that there had never been a life before the brutality at the inn. Maybe her past, and all that she had been raised to expect, had been an illusion to be wiped away by harsh reality. But now she knew the truth. Her foot caught in a root. She struggled to recover from the fall, only to feel her ankle twist as she was yanked upright again. Tallack had caught her by the back of her dress. In desperation, she looked up—she could see the cliff edge through a gap in the trees, scant feet ahead. It frustrated her to be stopped again with her objective just out of reach. “Did you think you would get away from me so easily?” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her backward. She had hardly found climbing through a window in the pouring rain while dodging bullets to be the least bit easy, but she bit back that response. Instead, she saved her energy for struggle as she tried to twist out of his grasp. “Because of your little tricks, Bines is dead and Pascoe dying. And someone must pay for that. I’ve left Dungey to deal with your gentleman friend. You will answer to me, girl. And when I’ve finished with you, we’ll have no more trouble with curious strangers tempted by that pretty face.” He spun her about and cuffed her to the ground. So he meant to beat her again, did he? And drag her back to the inn? The pain in her cheek paled against the anger rising inside her. He had taken all that she had, all that was good, and destroyed it. But if he meant to take Jack, too, and keep her alive so that she might remember what she had lost…? “No.” His expression at her denial was just as shocked as if she had slapped him in return. “You don’t say no to me, girl.” “From now on, I do as I like.” She grabbed for the knife in her pocket, and as he reached out for her, she brought it up quickly, cutting his hand. As he screamed, she scrambled for the cliff.
Chapter Nineteen “Joy!” Jack’s voice broke on the name, and he was unable to hide the panic he felt. The woman’s cries were growing nearer. He called out to her, hoping that she would guide him to the spot. He must focus on the positive—if she was still crying then she was still alive. And as long as she lived, there was hope. There would be no more nonsense of running for his own good. Because she must know that his heart could not stand the thought that he might lose her again. Without warning, the trees opened before him onto the bare cliff face. Jack saw Joy and Tallack struggling near the edge. Tallack was looming over her, but she was holding him back with the knife. There was a mark upon her cheek that might become a bruise—if she survived. But there was a cut upon him as well, for his hand was dripping blood. As Jack watched, Joy made a lunge with the knife. The smuggler laughed and caught her by the wrist. Near blind with rage, Jack spurred his horse forward to ride the man down. He longed for the cavalry sword that he had left behind in Portugal.
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But death by the blade would be merciful compared to what he would do with his bare hands to the man that had brutalized his Joy. But for the first time in his life, Ajax rebelled. The horse froze, dead in its tracks, as though Jack were demanding he jump off the cliff and not run towards it. It tossed its head in terror, eyes rolling white, foam flecking its lips. Then the great beast reared, throwing Jack to the ground, and bolted for the woods. Jack hit the dirt hard, knocking the wind from his body. As he fought for the first great breath, his brain struggled with the panicked knowledge that Joy was scant feet from him. Every second counted and he could not move to aid her. Then the air flooded back into his lungs and Jack surged to his feet. And froze in his tracks, just as his horse had done. Joy was huddled on the ground in much the same position he had seen her moments before. But the smuggler who had towered over her was retreating. Slowly. Unwillingly. Step by halting step, he was backing toward the cliff edge behind him. The expression upon his face was stark terror, his eyes rolled white just as the horse’s had been and his head was shaking slowly from side to side. About his neck were twined the hands of a woman. Thin, bone-white, blue-veined and dripping with the sea. Long, unmarked and graceful—the hands of a lady, but strong enough to pull the large man near off his feet. Tallack struggled, but his progress toward the ragged edge of rock was inexorable. He turned, trying to shake her off, and Jack could see the figure that held him. The woman’s hair hung in wet black snakes around the perfect oval of her gray face, and her sodden gown was green with seaweed and slime. In life she might have been a beauty. When she turned her head and stared at Jack with her horrible blank stare, he knew that he was looking into the eyes of death. Suddenly she tipped back her head and opened her dark blue lips. The ghostly cry that had drawn Jack to the spot became a shriek of triumphant laughter. Then she lunged forward toward the cliff edge, taking Tallack with her. The smuggler’s heavy boots passed the last bit of loose ground. He wavered for a moment, arms flailing at nothing, grasping for the ghost woman who held him. But she was gone, like a swirl of mist. And then he screamed and fell. The sounds of his struggle echoed and died away. And even the wind was strangely silent, as though nature itself stood paused in horror at what had occurred.
Chapter Twenty Joy pulled herself up and went forward to stare at the waters below. There was no sign of her captor and she wondered if it was a sin to feel relief. His end had been a terrible thing to behold but would the Gray Lady have taken an innocent man? She closed her eyes, for it made her dizzy to look and faint to think of all that had happened. When she opened them again, Jack was beside her, reaching for her hand. “Come away from the edge. It is not safe to stand there too long.” She smiled sadly. He did not understand what an illusion safety could be. “I needed to see that he was gone. To be sure.”
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“He is gone. There is no one to hold you here.” He held his hand higher, so she could not ignore it. “Come with me. If you have possessions to reclaim, we can return to the inn.” She shook her head. “There is nothing. I have lost all.” “Then once I have located my horse, I will find you a dry room in a proper inn, as far away as can be managed.” A room in a proper inn. After all this time, the idea was less real to her than the Gray Lady had been. Jack acted as though it would be possible to start fresh. But how long could she pretend that her past did not exist? And would it be fair to expect him to? “You needn’t bother, you know. You have done more than enough by ending this.” He was looking at her in surprise. “It is no bother. In truth, it is the farthest thing from it. My job is not finished until I have taken you away from this place and the memories of it.” “The memories will follow both of us where ever we go.” “Never say that. We have all the time in the world. Years ahead of us. Someday, this will be the distant past. Nearly forgotten.” He was so handsome. And his words were so beautiful. But she felt the heaviness in her heart, and shook her head. “Memories fade with time. As will yours of me. You are free. I never meant to trap you here. Go, and forget me.” “I cannot.” She gave him another sad smile. “Then I must help you.” She turned from him to face the cliff. The water below was cold and dark. But at the end she would feel nothing and the waves would wash her clean. “No!” He must have guessed what she meant to do, for he caught her about the waist and held her close to his chest. “Let me go, Jack.” She struggled briefly, and then stopped. It was dangerous on the cliff and she did not want him to fall. Joy could feel his loyal heart, beating strong against her, as though it were her own. “Life together or death together, darling. The choice is yours. But now I have you, I will not let you go.” And she believed him, for he kissed her gently, the way he had in her room when he had made her believe that nothing mattered but the feel of his lips. As she had then, Joy’s struggles ceased and she kissed him back. She twined her arms about his neck and relaxed until she was nestling against Jack, safe in his embrace, as he backed slowly away from the precipice. When she looked up at him, there was the same playful light in his eyes that had drawn her from the first moment she had seen him. “You are mad, Jack.” “Mad for you, perhaps. But saner than some. I have money enough and a horse that will carry two.” He smiled down at her. “Joy Colliver, will you have me?” She shook her head, but this time it was in amazement. “If you are all I have, then I think I will be a rich woman.” And she let him lead her into a new beginning.
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Taggart's Bride by Allison Leigh She became pregnant by one brother, and married the other. Now her first love is back — who will Jolie choose? Seven years ago Drew Taggart married the young and pregnant Jolie Stewart when his brother had abandoned her. But now Darian Taggart is back in town and the two brothers are competing for the same woman. Who will Jolie choose?
Chapter 1 "I suppose you heard." "Hmm?" Jolie Taggart finished folding the last bath towel and added it to the neat stack sitting atop the shining oak dresser. She wanted to get the laundry put away so she wouldn’t have to do it the next day before going to her part-time job at the post office. Waiting for him to elaborate, she glanced up and in the wide mirror over the dresser saw the reflection of her husband, Drew, standing on the other side of the bedroom. He’d unbuttoned his chambray work shirt and as she watched, he yanked the tails from his jeans and shrugged out of it, balling it up in his fist. He wasn’t looking at her, though, and she stifled a longing little sigh at the sight of Drew’s bare chest. Her husband was nothing if not a magnificent-looking man, though he’d likely figure she’d lost her mind if she told him so. She scooped up the stack of towels and walked past him to the linen cupboard tucked in a corner of their bathroom. She juggled the high stack and opened the door. The shelves were jumbled, as if Evan had been rooting through for one of his toys. She knew it was more likely that it was Drew who’d left the disorganized mess. He did that when he was searching for an old towel to turn into a grease rag for whatever engine he was trying to fix around their small spread. She spied a relatively neat corner and began fitting the stack of clean towels into it. "Heard what?" Drew didn’t immediately answer and she raised her voice a little. "You suppose I heard what?" She glanced over her shoulder, hearing Drew’s soft footfall behind her. “Darian’s back," he said in his quiet voice. Jolie blinked. She was aware of a slow tumble of pale blue and peach terrycloth as the towels she’d been putting away slid from the shelf to the cool white-tiled floor. Her stomach clenched. "I...excuse me?" Drew watched her, his deeply brown eyes unreadable. "You heard me." She swallowed. She’d been married to Drew for nearly seven years now. In fact, their anniversary was just a few days off. She’d knitted him a cable-knit sweater in a beautiful silvery gray color. It had taken her months and she’d had to bribe Evan with a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts to extract his promise that he wouldn’t tell his daddy what she’d been working on every afternoon between the time she picked Evan up from school and when she put on dinner before Drew came in for the day. She reached for the towels, automatically refolding and stuffing them in the cluttered closet. One of these days she’d pull everything out and organize it properly, she thought stupidly. "How, uh, how do you know? Did you see him? Talk to him?" Did you tell him about Evan? She wanted to ask the question but didn’t. Couldn’t.
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"Helen told me." Jolie relaxed a little. Helen Taggart was Drew’s stepmother, having married his father when he was but a teenager. "So he’s in Gillette, then. At Helen’s." A few safe hours away from Weaver, Wyoming, where she and Drew and their son, Evan, lived. Their son. No matter what circumstances had led to Evan’s birth, she considered Drew to be Evan’s father in every way that counted. She believed that Drew felt the same. She realized Drew hadn’t answered her. "Drew? Darian is...in Gillette. Isn’t he...?"
Chapter 2 "Yeah. He’s in Gillette," Drew finally said. Jolie eyed her husband, thinking that she should feel more relief than she did. If only she could read Drew’s thoughts! But even after all these years, she couldn’t begin to hazard a guess. He’d never been one to wear his emotions or his thoughts on his sleeve. Not with her, anyway. Drew...well her tall, dark, and intense husband usually gave new meaning to the idea of one keeping their thoughts to themselves. She realized she was chewing the inside of her lip and deliberately made herself stop. She wished Drew wouldn’t stand in the doorway like that. It made her feel decidedly edgy. Even after all these years she was still overwhelmed by the feelings he roused in her. It wasn’t just sexual, either. It was something entirely more complicated. And it was something she, alone, felt. She forced herself to focus on the topic at hand rather than the mystery that was her husband. "Do you think Darian will come to Weaver, then? To see you, I mean?" "To see you, more likely." Drew lifted one sun-bronzed shoulder in a faint shrug. "He has no reason to want to see me," she said carefully. She couldn’t help but wonder what that shrug meant. So uncaring, yet somehow a hair too casual. Or maybe she was just looking for signs of...of something that wasn’t there. "You’re his brother, Drew." "Half-brother." She’d always thought it odd how both men had always made that particular distinction when referring to one another. They’d shared a father, with Drew nearly 10 years older than Darian, but the two men were as different from each other as night was from day. And they’d never gotten along. At all. "Half, then," she allowed. "But it’s been seven years since he went away. Of course he’ll want to see you." Just because she found the idea abhorrent didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility. The corner of Drew’s mouth curled, but the movement held no amusement. "Yeah. Maybe if he’s screwed up and needs me to clean up the mess." Jolie stiffened, feeling a pain deep down inside her. A pain that was with her always, even though she managed to ignore it for the most part. Time seemed to have a way of doing that, she’d learned. She pushed to her feet and looked up at Drew. Her husband in all ways save one — he didn’t love her. He never had. And the pain inside stemmed from fear that he never would.
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She moistened lips gone dry. "Like you had to clean up the mess he made with me, you mean," she whispered even as her heart silently cried out for him to deny it. But only silence, thick as a humid summer day, hung between them...
Chapter 3 After a seeming eternity, Drew made an impatient sound and shoved his heavy dark hair away from his sunbronzed face. He pitched his shirt into the hamper, moving past her. "For God’s sake, Jolie. You know that’s not what I meant." "Do I?" She made herself speak matter-of-factly but it took a huge effort and even then she wasn’t sure she succeeded. "We wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for...for — " "For the fact that my half-brother left you alone and pregnant seven years ago? No, I guess we wouldn’t have married." Though it was true, having him state it in such an unemotional way hurt. Deeply. His eyes, so dark a brown they sometimes looked nearly black, watched her intently. As if he were waiting for something. But what? She knew that Drew hadn’t married her because he’d loved her. He’d married her because of his overwhelming sense of family responsibility. She may have been foolish enough to fall in love with her own spouse along the way, but that didn’t mean he’d done the same. "Drew, I..." she trailed off. She didn’t know what to say. "He’ll probably stay in Gillette. If he stays at all." Again, Drew seemed to be watching. Waiting. "That’ll please Helen," Jolie managed despite the knot in her throat. Before Darian took off all those years ago, Helen had doted on her son to the exclusion of everyone else, though she was admittedly fond of Drew. And she’d detested Jolie on sight. Helen hadn’t changed much in the years since. "Perhaps you should go there to see him." The suggestion came out, surprising even her. "Why would I want to do that?" "I don’t know!" She struggled to control her voice. "To see what he’s doing back in Wyoming since when he left he made it clear he never intended to return. To keep him from coming here, maybe. You can’t possibly want him to see Evan." "Do you want him to?" "Of course not!" "Then there’s nothing to be concerned about." He reached into the tiled shower and flipped on the water with one hand even as he unfastened his leather belt with the other. With an ease that still managed to dry Jolie’s throat, he shucked the rest of his clothes and stepped under the water. On any other night, he might have hooked a long arm around her and pulled her — part protesting, part giggling, all delighted — under the water with him. But not tonight. Not tonight when they both knew his brother — half-brother — had returned after a seven-year absence. But Darian wasn’t only Drew’s younger half-brother. He’d been Jolie’s first love.
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And before he took off, leaving her life in tatters, he’d unknowingly fathered the precious boy who slept in the bedroom at the end of the hall. The boy who called Drew "Daddy." Jolie closed the cupboard door on the towels she’d finally succeeded at fitting inside, and picked up her husband’s discarded clothing. She slowly pushed them into the hamper atop his shirt. Through the textured glass of the shower door, she could see his tall blurred form standing beneath the pounding water that was already sending curls of steam over the door. Drew didn’t think Darian would even want to see him unless it was to clean up one of his messes. Jolie couldn’t say whether Drew’s estimation of his half-brother was correct, or not. All she knew was that just the news of it seemed to have put a wall between her and Drew that had not existed even 10 minutes earlier. So she couldn’t help the suspicion that Darian’s return would change their lives, yet again...
Chapter 4 "Mom? Who’s that man?" Jolie transferred the last sack of groceries from the cart to the trunk of her car. "What man?" "Him." She followed Evan’s pointing finger and felt her stomach drop through the snow-dusted earth beneath her boots. She wanted to turn tail and hustle Evan back inside the grocery but it was already too late. He’d spotted her, flashed a smile and headed straight in her direction. Nothing to be concerned about? Darian Taggart was as different from his older half-brother, Drew, as spring was from fall. At 22 he’d been all bronzed skin, chestnut hair, and vivid blue eyes. At 29, he was...even more so. Jolie swallowed down a jolt of nausea and nudged Evan toward the car. "Get inside the car, sweetheart. The wind is getting really cold." "But who’s the man waving at us?" "Nobody." She practically frog-jumped him toward the passenger door and yanked it open. "Come on, kiddo. In you go. I don’t want your cold coming back again." She pointed at the package sitting on the middle of the seat that her best friend, Hope Leoni Clay, had given her earlier that day. "You can open that now, if you like. It’s a new video game from Hope." Hope’s husband, Tristan Clay, among other things also designed video games. His new company, CeeVid, had just opened an office right in Weaver. "I think she said it’s the one that will be released next year." Thankfully, Evan dove for the package with fiendish glee. He loved getting an advance crack at the games that had become exceedingly popular. Not that Jolie was surprised. Everything Tristan Clay touched seemed to turn to gold. What Jolie liked most about Tristan, though, was his ability to make Hope happier than she’d ever been in her life. She pushed the car door shut just as she heard the scrape of a boot behind her. Bracing herself, she turned and came face-to-face with Darian’s blinding white smile. "I would recognize those blond curls of yours anywhere," he said cheerfully, and before Jolie could guess his intentions, he’d put his hands on her hips and lifted her right off the ground to swing her in a half circle. Pure shock held her silent for a long moment. Then she grabbed for his shoulders. "Put me down!"
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He laughed and set her on her feet, but her relief was short-lived when he leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. "You’re as sweet as ripe peaches, Jolie Stewart. Just the way I remember you." Jolie couldn’t have said a word to save her soul. "Well? Don’t you have a smile for an old friend?" "Old friend?" She parroted. He grinned, as seemingly oblivious to her discomfort at the arms he still had looped loosely around her as he was to the snowflakes that had begun to fall. "Well, Jolie girl, we did have some good times, didn’t we?" His gaze flicked toward the car. "But you’re probably an old married lady by now, if the looks of that boy is anything to go by. So who’s the lucky guy?" "I am," a grim voice said behind them, startling them both. "And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop necking out here on the middle of Main Street." Jolie stared, dismayed, at Drew who’d appeared out of nowhere. She was faintly aware of Darian’s arms dropping away and his astonished "You?" even as her knees went weak and her vision blurred. It was her every nightmare come to life, she thought faintly as the world around her faded to an odd, wavy gray. "Drew," she whispered...and everything went black.
Chapter 5 Darian was standing closer to her than Drew. He caught Jolie in his arms just as she crumpled. Drew’s hands curled into fists. The sight of his wife in his half-brother’s arms bit into his gut like a vicious dog. He yanked open the rear door of Jolie’s car. "Here," he said shortly. He brushed his hand over Evan’s head as the boy leaned over the back of the front seat, his eyes wide. Darian, having settled Jolie on the back seat, backed away. Drew rounded the car and climbed behind the wheel, starting the engine with a savage motion. He shot out of the parking slot, marginally aware of Darian jumping out of the way, and drove straight to the doctor’s. "Daddy? Is Mommy sick?" Evan’s face was pinched and pale. "She’ll be okay," Drew promised gruffly. He turned sharply and pulled into the parking lot of the medical clinic, parking right in front of the entrance. "Grab Mommy’s purse," he told Evan. He went around to the back and gently lifted Jolie from the seat. In just the few steps to get to the clinic, snowflakes fell on her hair, glistening like diamonds against her golden curls. He carried her inside, Evan trotting behind. "She needs the doc," he said, heading right past the receptionist toward the examining rooms. It helped that he was familiar with the new Weaver medical clinic. He ought to be, considering he’d helped build it, fitting in the work between the hours he spent doing his real work as a cutting horse trainer. The door to the second room was open and he carried Jolie inside, lowering her to the high, padded exam table. Jolie’s eyes opened and she stared up at him, confusion clearly written in her tawny eyes. She started to sit up. "Drew? What happened? Where — " "So, what’s the problem here?" Dr. Rebecca Clay glided into the room, moving around Drew to look at Jolie. She’d already flashed a light in Jolie’s eyes before anyone could speak.
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"I just...I got a little dizzy. That’s all." "She passed out cold," Drew corrected grimly. "Don’t be ridiculous," Jolie said defensively. "I’m fine. I guess I’m hungry. I missed lunch and — " "And we’ll just talk for a minute, okay?" Rebecca was calm as she managed to quietly, but implacably, nudge Drew and Evan from the room. "My nurse, Gloria, brought in brownies to the office today," she whispered with a quick wink to Evan after assuring him that his mom would be just fine. "They’re in the reception area if you want one." "I want to know what’s wrong with my mom first," Evan said, all young male and determined. Somehow, the sight of his son looking the doctor’s square in the eyes that way made Drew’s tension ease a little. "Come on, pal. Relax." He closed his hand over Evan’s shoulder. "It’ll just be a few minutes. Then we’ll take your mom home and make sure she eats that lunch she missed. Right?" Evan didn’t look too enthusiastic, but he nodded and went in search of the brownies. "You have one, also, Drew." Rebecca’s voice was soft, but firm. "Give me a minute with her alone. We won’t be long." He looked over the top of the doctor’s head. If Jolie gave one indication that she wanted him to stay, there was nothing the physician could do to keep him away. But Jolie’s gaze met his for only a moment before she looked aside. "Go relax, Drew," Rebecca urged again and with nothing else to be done about it, Drew joined Evan in the reception area. But relax? He doubted it. Particularly when he saw Darian step into the office and look around...
Chapter 6 "Have you had other episodes of dizziness?" Jolie finished buttoning her blouse and started to shake her head. "Well, a few, yes" she admitted to Rebecca, flicking a glance at her. There was something about the female physician that inspired trust. "But nothing this bad." "Nausea? Missed periods?" She felt the blood drain from her head and sank back against the exam table. "You think I’m pregnant?" Rebecca’s lips twitched. "You know better than I at this point, Jolie. Is it a possibility? Might as well look at the most obvious explanation first, don’t you agree?" Despite everything, she and Drew had never discussed having more children together. They’d married because of Evan and anything beyond that had never been an issue. Perhaps that was odd, considering how long they’d been together, but Drew had never brought it up, and Jolie had taken her cue from him. Besides, she’d been too busy trying to walk the tightrope of being a wife without letting her husband know that she’d gone beyond their original arrangement by actually falling in love with him.
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"I suppose it’s a possibility," she admitted, feeling the color return to her face with a vengeance. Though for what reason, she couldn’t say. She and Drew were married, after all. "But I’d have to be pretty early along. And I really think that it’s unlikely..." "Let’s run a test to be certain. Okay?" *** Ten minutes later, Jolie walked out of Rebecca’s office, feeling more dazed than when she’d come to and found herself in Drew’s arms in the exam room. The tableau that greeted her, however, was a blow she could have done without. Drew standing near the wall, his expression closed. Darian sitting on a chair next to Evan, their two heads close as they looked at the handheld video game that Evan was playing with. "What are you doing?" Her voice was sharper than she intended. Evan’s head lifted and he bounded over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You’re okay?" She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I’m fine," she assured him. Then she straightened and looked at her husband. "Nothing to worry about at all. I’d like to go home, now, though." "Hey, great," Darian pushed to his feet. "Ma told me that Drew there built a house with his own two hands. Could hardly believe it. Can’t wait to see it. I guess that’s the house you two share. Strange how Ma never said you guys were hitched." "No!" She flushed and looked at Drew, wishing that he would say something. She wasn’t surprised at all that Helen hadn’t mentioned her. The woman would prefer to pretend she didn’t exist at all. "I mean...perhaps another time. I am feeling a bit tired." Darian shrugged. "Sure. Whenever. I’ll be around a while, after all." At that, Drew looked over at his half-brother. "Why?" "Because I’m going to be working at CeeVid. I’m moving to Weaver, man. I thought Ma told you all this. Isn’t it great? It’ll be almost like old times again." Jolie felt Drew’s dark eyes like a physical thing. "Sure," he said sardonically. "Like old times."
Chapter 7 Drew stood in the dark bedroom looking down at the twin-sized bed and the sprawling lump hanging half off it. Jolie had joked often enough that Evan could sleep standing on his head in a snowbank and Drew suspected it was close enough to truth. Once Evan had wound down enough from the excitement of the day, he’d hit the hay hard. He leaned over and smoothly lifted his son’s head and shoulders back onto the mattress. Evan, predictably, didn’t stir. Not even when Drew pulled the quilt up over his shoulders, nor when he suddenly sat on the side of the bed, his weight denting the mattress.
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A good part of him wanted to scoop up the boy and hold on tight. Never let him go. Evan was his. His. He had been since the day Drew had talked a broken-hearted, desperate girl named Jolie Stewart with corkscrew curls out of giving up her baby for adoption and into marrying him. But the truth was, even then he’d expected this day to come. Seven weeks, seven months, seven years. What did it matter? Drew had known even then that he was living on borrowed time with his beautiful blonde wife and dark-haired son. Because sooner or later either the man she’d loved, his half-brother, would return; or she’d fall for someone else. Someone who’d be able to give her the large family she’d once dreamt of having. "Drew? What is it? It’s after midnight. Is Evan all right?" His head shot up at the whisper. Jolie was padding into the room, her arms hugged around herself the way she had of doing when she was chilled. "He’s fine." He stood and watched her smooth her hand over Evan’s tousled head. "You’re cold. You should get back in bed." She turned and looked up at him, lifting one hand to push back the hair that hung in wild curls half way down the back of the faded blue football jersey she must have appropriated from his side of the closet. The movement made the too-wide neck of the shirt slide down one ivory-smooth shoulder. Desire, hard and hot, ripped through him. He very nearly reached for her. But the knowledge that she’d passed out just from the mere sight of his half-brother kept his hands to himself. "What about you?" she asked. Dark amusement curled through him as he followed her into the hall and quietly pulled Evan’s door closed. "I’ll be along." Once he’d stuck his head out in the cold night air, that was. She took a few steps along the hallway toward their bedroom. Then stopped. Turned back, looking at him. Her eyes were shadows in the dim light. "Drew, are...are you all right?" His amusement died. "Why?" "I just — You aren’t...well — " "Spit it out, curly cue." Her soft lips trembled at the nickname, then firmed. "You seem...I don’t know. Upset. Ever since you told me about, about — " "Can’t you say his name?" She made a soft sound. "You are upset. You haven’t even come to bed." "Did you want me to?" Her lips parted. "Of course I want you to get some sleep. You’re up every day before dawn and — " "Sleep." She cast him a look he couldn’t read, then just as quickly looked away. "You’re my husband." He didn’t know what devil drove him. "And that’s why you want me to come to bed."
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"Actually," her soft voice sounded strained. "I think we need to talk..."
Chapter 8 We need to talk. Drew figured those had to be four of the most god-awful words around. They were never a prelude to something good. He looked at Jolie. He’d married her. He’d loved seeing her pregnant. Getting big and round with her baby, she’d been everything he’d ever thought a woman could possibly be. Containing his desire for her during that time had just about killed him. But he’d done it. And after the baby came, after they’d settled into a new routine with the three of them, right here in this house that back then had been little more than a weathertight skeleton, it was Jolie who had finally come to him. Jolie, who’d shyly told him that she was ready to be a real wife. It had been the night before their first wedding anniversary, he remembered. With no effort at all he could recall every single detail of that night. From the way her hair had flowed wild and abandoned across the white sheets to the way her breath had caught in her throat when they’d joined together for the first time to the way he’d lost control with her like he had never done before. But she’d still been in love with Darian. It had been Darian’s name that she’d mumbled night after night in her sleep while she’d tossed and turned, caught in the grip of a dream that Drew’s imagination had no trouble whatsoever deciphering. Yeah, she’d loved his gregarious fun-loving half-brother all right. And to his dying day he’d remember that particular fact. "Let’s just make it quick," he said evenly. "Darian’s back. Apparently to stay. You don’t have to tell me how you feel about him." "But that wasn’t — " "I’ll find a new place to stay in the morning. Unless you want to move out instead. I’d just as soon not sell this place, though, if you don’t mind. We can work something out about the land and the stables." He didn’t know what, though. He trained cutting horses. He needed space to do it. She’d gone pale. Even in the dim light he could see it. He caught her arms in his hands. She was so cold he could feel the goosebumps on her satiny skin. "Are you going to pass out again?" She wrenched out of his arms. "No, I am not. What do you mean, move out? What on earth are you talking about?" On the best of occasions, Drew didn’t figure he had an over-abundance of patience. And now, it was in seriously meager supply. "You and Darian." "Me and Darian...what?" "I saw you two today, remember? Climbing down each other’s throats." Jolie felt Drew’s words like a physical slap. "He kissed me," she said stiffly. "And you fainted dead away." "I was shocked. And...and hungry."
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Drew didn’t respond to that. She stared at him, feeling the very foundation of her world cracking right beneath her feet. But how could that be when they were standing in their very own hall right outside their bedroom? Her voice felt brittle as she forced the question past her numb lips. "What exactly are you saying here, Drew?"
Chapter 9 Jolie waited, feeling on the edge of a bottomless chasm. Drew’s tall form filled her vision. A button looked loose on the front of his denim shirt, she noticed, and felt the urge to scream rise inside her. "You can have Bennett Ludlow represent you if you want," he said. His voice was low. Husky. "He’s right here in town, so it’ll be convenient for you. I’ll find a lawyer from over in Braden." Had she ever felt this cold in her life? Only by clenching her jaw was she able to keep her teeth from chattering. "Lawyers. You...want a divorce, then. That’s what you’re saying." He didn’t answer immediately and she felt a quick dart of hope. But then he silently inclined his head. Just once. And hope died. Drew no longer wanted her as his wife. Maybe later she’d appreciate the irony of the situation. Unwanted by both Taggart brothers in one lifetime. But right now, right this minute, she could barely draw breath. "And Evan?" Finally, Drew showed some emotion. His jaw cocked to one side and he shoved one hand through his hair, leaving it in disheveled black waves that made her fingers long to stroke back from his brow. "You can have anything you want, Jolie. But I won’t lose my son." No, you’ll just throw away your wife. The cry went unspoken. One thing was clear. If she didn’t leave his presence right this second, she was going to break down. "You built this place," she said stiffly. "You’ll stay here." Then she turned on her heel and went into their bedroom. She pushed the door closed, hearing it latch very, very quietly. Her vision blurred as she leaned back against the door panel. After a long moment, she heard the creak of a floor board. The scrape of a boot. And then...nothing. She slid down the door and buried her face in her hands, tears slowly scalding their way down her cheeks. *** "What do you mean you and Evan have moved into Rebecca’s old apartment?" Despite the horrified question from Hope, Jolie continued sorting mail into the post office boxes. She tried to have the mail in the boxes by 10 very morning. The townspeople counted on it. "I mean we’ve moved. As of yesterday." "But...but why?" She wouldn’t cry. She just would not. She’d spent all last night in tears, muffling them in her pillow so she wouldn’t disturb Evan in the next room. He’d made no secret of his confusion of the turn of events that had
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them hastily packing some of their clothes and moving from their wood-surrounded ranch house to the apartment that had once been Dr. Rebecca’s home before she’d married Sawyer Clay. Jolie was confused, too. And surely by now there weren’t any tears left inside her. "Ask Drew," she told her friend. "He’s the one who decided it." She slotted the last letter and slammed shut the hinged metal door. "Tristan hasn’t said anything to me. He and Drew are best friends but I don’t think Drew’s told him a thing." Hope’s violet eyes were shocked behind her delicate gold-framed glasses. She followed Jolie back out to the front counter of the small — and mercifully empty — post office. "I don’t understand this. I thought you guys were the perfect couple." So much for not having any tears left. "You and Tristan are the perfect couple," Jolie corrected. She dashed her fingers across her damp cheek and blindly began straightening the mailing supplies stacked on the counter. "You love him and he loves you." Hope frowned. "What are you saying? Don’t you love him?" The slippery express mail envelopes scattered all over again. "Yes, I love Drew. But he doesn’t love me, Hope," she admitted miserably. "He never has. And I need to start facing the fact that he never will."
Chapter 10 Hope was staring at Jolie after she’d told her the real bare bones of her marriage as if she’d never seen her before. "When you eloped with Drew it seemed like the most romantic thing ever. I can’t believe you never told me the truth. That you bore all that worry alone. I was off at college, but still — " Jolie pressed her fingertips against her aching temples. "I couldn’t tell you. It was so humiliating, Hope. Once Darian got what he wanted from me — " her lips pressed together for a moment " — he headed on down the road just like my mother warned me he would. But I wouldn’t listen. I had visions of becoming Darian Taggart’s bride. His wants were rather less romantic." "And Darian left town before you learned you were pregnant with Evan. Then, in steps big brother and you became Drew Taggart’s bride instead." It was a simplistic explanation but Jolie didn’t have the energy to correct her friend. The truth of the matter was much more complicated. "Essentially." "Drew was protecting you. He cared about you, even then, Jolie. For goodness’ sake, he was at the height of his rodeo career. He was one of the top competitors in the PRCA." Jolie swallowed. Nodded. He’d not only given up his career, but his inheritance from his father that Helen had controlled, all to ensure that her child remained a Taggart. Helen had detested Jolie badly enough that after their quiet elopement, she’d packed up her house in Weaver and moved to the more populated Gillette. She’d always considered Jolie beneath her, mostly because Helen and Jolie’s mother had never gotten on. Even in a town as small as Weaver, there had been definite attitudes. And Helen had had it in spades. Drew hadn’t let any of his stepmother’s disapproval deter him, however. Heavens, he’d been a grown man and not given to taking orders from anyone, much less his stepmother. Which had further cemented Helen’s dislike of Jolie. Since then, Drew had built up his reputation as one of the best cutting horse trainers in the
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country and even now his schedule was booked at least two years out. He still visited Helen regularly, and Jolie generally went along. But the woman’s attitude hadn’t changed much over the years. "Then surely that tells you how much Drew cared. He wouldn’t have had to marry you, Jolie. He might have found other ways to help. He was — " "Was protecting my child," Jolie interrupted. "Because he knew I was going to have to give the baby up for adoption." She pressed her palm to her abdomen at the terrible memory. Her mother had been nearly incapacitated with her penchant for alcohol. Jolie supported them as best she could since she’d been 15. That summer, after Jolie graduated from high school, Darian had left town and his mother, Helen, had assured Jolie that he wasn’t likely to return. She’d been only 18 years old, but she’d known she couldn’t hope to provide a suitable life for her child no matter how badly she’d wanted to keep the baby. Drew had been back in town during that time recovering from several cracked ribs and he’d learned of Jolie’s predicament when he’d come across her crying right here in this very post office. Jolie had never felt so alone as she had then. She’d had no means to support a child, no matter how much she wanted the baby. Abortion for her was simply out of the question. She’d known she’d have to give up her child for adoption. But Drew had offered an alternative. And though she’d first refused, he’d hung around for weeks, gently, casually, inexorably changing her mind in that quiet way he had. "Drew latched onto Darian’s return like a drowning man, Hope." Jolie still could hardly believe what had occurred. "He wanted out, obviously. And now he’s got an excuse that his conscience can apparently live with. He even told me to hire Bennett Ludlow to represent me in our divorce." Hope frowned. "But he’s never given you any indication that he wanted out of your marriage before, has he?"
Chapter 11 Jolie sank onto a high stool and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Hope. I don’t know if there have been signs. All I knew was that I fell in love with Drew. He gave up so much for Evan and me. I didn’t deserve him. I never wanted to hurt him or bring him harm." Hope tsked and slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Who says you have? Or that you didn’t deserve him? For goodness’ sake, Jolie. You two have been together for years. I’ve never thought Drew was the kind of man who’d put up with an unacceptable situation for seven minutes, much less seven years. You need to tell him how you feel!" "So he can feel sorry for me all over again like he did when Darian dumped me? I can’t face that, Hope. I just can’t. If there’s one thing this has made me realize it is that I can’t keep on this way." Her hands pressed unconsciously against her abdomen. "I won’t be just a responsibility to him." Hope sighed. "I can’t believe Darian is going to be working at CeeVid," she muttered. "And he really doesn’t suspect anything about Evan?" "No. And he’s not going to, if I have anything to say about it. Drew may not want me, but he is Evan’s father. On that, at least, we agree. Some day we’ll tell Evan when he’s old enough to understand. But not now. Not yet." Both women looked up when the bell over the door tinkled softly. At the sight of her handsome hunk of a husband entering, Hope patted Jolie on the back. "You and Evan come to dinner tonight," she said softly before moving around the counter toward Tristan and the baby he held. "I can’t," Jolie said. "There’s a parent/teacher meeting at school."
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"Tomorrow then," Hope insisted. "And I know you probably don’t feel like company, but if you don’t come to us, we’ll come to you. Promise me, now." "Marriage has made you bossy," Jolie observed, striving for some sense of normalcy. "Motherhood has made her bossy," Tristan Clay corrected, his smile crooked and utterly indulgent. "And your son here is making it obvious that there are some things he prefers you for, sweetpea." Jolie watched Tristan transfer the blanket-bundled baby Erik from his arms to Hope’s as they left with a wave. If ever there was a man besotted with his wife and child, it was a former jetsetter named Tristan Clay. She closed her eyes and wished she were a better person. The kind of person who wouldn’t feel envious of her very best friend’s happiness. Then the bell jingled again signaling the steady start of postal customers and Jolie could only be grateful, for it gave her little time to sit and brood. She didn’t take a break until lunch. Even then she sat in the back where she still had a view of the front counter. Her sandwich held little appeal, but she forced a few bites down, mindful of what Dr. Rebecca had told her. The door chimes jingled and she was glad of the interruption from her depressing thoughts. She tossed away the half-eaten sandwich and went out front. Her stomach lurched unsteadily. "Drew," she breathed. Had he changed his mind? "What are you doing here?"
Chapter 12 It had been two hellish days since Jolie had silently moved out of their home. And the sight of her was like glimpsing sunshine through a blizzard. Before he did something stupid, like beg Jolie to come home whether she loved someone else or not, Drew set the small duffel bag on the counter. "Evan called me." A look he couldn’t decipher flitted through her eyes. "When? He’s in school right now." Drew dragged his gaze away from her face, only to be distracted by the sweet shape of her breasts beneath her sunny-yellow, skinny-knitted sweater. He realized that Jolie was still waiting. "This morning. Before school," he said. "He wanted this stuff. Told me you’d said to drop it by here." "I didn’t..." Jolie unzipped the bag, peering inside. She frowned a little and pulled out a pair of hightops from the jumble of trading cards and balls and CeeVid games. "Are you sure? He outgrew these shoes months ago, Drew. Perhaps he meant another pair or something." Hearing his name on her lips had always driven him a little nuts. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his aging down vest so they wouldn’t do something stupid. Like reach for her. "There are no other pairs. You left his closet very nearly empty, which you know good and well." She blinked and slowly drew the zipper closed. "What did you expect? That I’d leave behind half of his things? This was your idea, remember?" And she hadn’t uttered so much as one protest. His fingers tightened into fists. "Have you talked to Bennett yet?" Her chin angled. "I didn’t realize you were in such a hurry."
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He swore. "Jolie — " But she waved her hand, shaking her head. "Just...go away, Drew. I’ll make sure Evan gets this bag." "You’re still going to bring him home for the weekend, right?" They’d agreed to that in excruciatingly polite tones before she’d begun packing up the contents of his son’s closet. She turned away, setting the duffel behind the counter. "I said I would, didn’t I?" Her voice was muffled and he wondered for an impossible moment if she was crying. But when she turned around again, tossing her glorious curls around her slender shoulders, her tawny eyes were bright but dry. "Is there anything else?" She’d spoken to him like he was merely a postal customer, and nothing more. Sure in hell not as if he were the man who’d shared her bed and her body for the better part of their life together. His hands came out of his pocket and he leaned over the counter, thrusting one hand unerringly through the silky coils of her hair to curl about her neck and catching her shoulder in the other. He caught the shocked expression on her face in the bare moment before his mouth covered hers...
Chapter 13 Kissing Jolie now was the same as it had always been, Drew thought. Like trying to capture wildfire. She made a soft sound, her lips parting beneath his. He caught her face between his hands, angling her head. Plundering. Inhaling. Savoring. The wildfire spread as easy as a flame through dry grass when he felt her small, slender fingers touch his jaw. Tentative at first. Then more surely as she pushed them through his hair, cradling his head. His own hands drifted down her back, up her sides, feeling the uneven breath she drew lifting her rib cage and her heart pounding in her breasts that so perfectly fit his palms. Even through the ribbed knit he could feel the peaks tightening under the thumbs he brushed over her. She moaned, her back arching, and he reached for the hem of her sweater. One thinking part of his brain cursed the counter separating them. And then Jolie was twisting her head away from his. "No. No, Drew, we can’t." He went still. Slowly withdrew his damnable hands from her and planted them flat on the counter. His head bowed and he hauled in a long breath. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn’t have done that." But he wasn’t sorry. He’d never been sorry for wanting her. Maybe that was his own damned luck. Or his own personal hell. Wanting the woman who wanted Darian, his half-brother. Jolie’s knees were water. She could barely breathe for the way her heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t know what to say. What to do. Everything inside her urged her to hurry around to Drew’s side of the counter and pull his head down to hers, regardless of the fact that they were standing right there in front of God and Country and whatever Weaver postal customer decided to come into the post office. Only he was sorry he’d kissed her.
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He hadn’t changed his mind about anything. "I think you’d better go," she whispered. He shoved back his hair, his depthless brown eyes watching her for a long moment. Then he nodded abruptly. "Tell Evan I’ll call him before bedtime," he said. Then he walked out the door, leaving the little bell jingling after him. Jolie’s vision blurred. She stood there until the sound of the bell had long faded. Until finally, feeling an ache in her soul, she went through the back room to the small restroom in the very rear. And there, she lost the meager lunch she’d managed to consume. After, she rinsed her mouth and splashed water over her face and looked at her pale reflection in the small mirror over the sink. What on earth was she going to do? She was no longer an 18-year-old girl with no resources whatsoever. And yet, once again, she’d found herself pregnant by a man who no longer wanted her...
Chapter 14 The jingle of the door drew Jolie like a magnet. She dashed out, her silly heart thinking it might be Drew again. But her feet stopped short at the sight of the other Taggart. "What do you want?" Darian held up a wrapped parcel. "Doing business on my lunch hour, Jolie girl." She could hardly ignore him, even though she wanted to. She weighed the package and reached for the cash he held out. When she did, he linked his fingers with hers and leaned toward her, over the counter. He smiled, looking revoltingly secure in his own charm. She twisted against his hold and wondered what on earth she’d ever seen in him. "Let me go, Darian." He didn’t. "So how on earth did you end up shackled to dull Drew?" "He’s not dull," she said coldly. She finally managed to extricate herself from his grip. "Drew’s done more with his life than you could ever hope for." And she suspected that Darian had always been envious of that. "The only thing interesting that Drew ever did was rodeo. But he hung up his bevy of buckle bunnies when he married you, I suppose." "Having a bevy was much more your style than Drew’s." Not because Drew wasn’t as attractive as his younger brother. In fact, Drew was far more intense than Darian, a fact that had as much to do with Drew’s personality as it did with his thick dark hair, carved features, and mesmerizing brown eyes. Mesmerizing brown eyes that no longer wanted to look on her as his wife, she reminded herself harshly. She counted out Darian’s change and set it on the counter between them. She wasn’t taking a chance that he would grab her hand again. "What are you really doing back in Weaver, Darian? You can’t expect me to believe it’s because you missed it here."
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"I got a good offer from CeeVid," he said. "Don’t act as if they sought you out," Jolie countered immediately. "I wouldn’t believe it and I can easily find out the truth." His lips thinned. "So I approached them. Big deal. I’m good at what I do and they hired me." "But why Weaver, Darian? CeeVid has other offices." Nothing about the last few days made any sense. Surely this was something that could be explained, though. "What are you doing? Hiding out from some woman you led on?" He looked away for a moment and Jolie knew instinctively that her sarcastic comment had been much closer to the mark than she’d expected. But then he was grinning that look-at-me-I’m-so-charming grin again. "So, what do you think, Jolie girl. Might be nice if we were friendly-like since we’re gonna be neighbors." "I don’t think so." "Afraid big brother wouldn’t approve?" "Since it is apparent to most of this town by now that I’ve moved out, I guess that hardly matters now, does it?" "Why did you? Move out, I mean." Jolie didn’t answer that. She had no intentions of letting Darian know that he’d had any affect on her marriage. Fortunately, Darian seemed content to have his question go unanswered. "Drew always did like acting the hero," he said smoothly, instead. Jolie swallowed. She didn’t know what this turn of conversation meant, but she knew she didn’t feel comfortable with it. "W-What do you mean?" He lifted one shoulder in a motion eerily like Drew’s. "Well, he’s the one who got the girl, now isn’t he?"
Chapter 15 Driving to Hope and Tristan’s house on the other side of town later the next evening, Jolie couldn’t contain a shudder at the memory of Darian’s words. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her that Darian might be staying at the motel that comprised the rest of the building where Rebecca’s apartment was located. For years, the place had been the only motel in town. But since CeeVid had come to town, bringing with it a rush of new growth, one of the national chains had opened a motel on the opposite end of town. Foolish of Jolie to assume that he’d have chosen the new place. It had to be her preoccupation over that lamentable fact that kept her from noticing the familiar black pickup truck already parked alongside Hope and Tristan’s sprawling place. But Evan noticed Drew’s vehicle. He bounded out of Jolie’s car before she’d barely stopped. "Daddy’s here!" A sudden knot tied itself in Jolie’s stomach. She wanted to drive away. To run and hide and continue licking her wounds. But Hope had already thrown open the wide front door of her home, letting Evan inside as she walked toward Jolie’s car.
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"I didn’t know," she said quickly. "This is Tristan’s doing. Please don’t turn around and drive away." Jolie sighed and climbed out of the car. "Evan saw that he’s here. It’s too late to back out." She made herself shrug even as she wished she’d changed out of the blue jeans and flannel shirt that she’d worn to work. But then, why should she dress up for a husband who’d more than made it clear he wanted out of their marriage? She followed Hope into the house and realized she was pressing her lips together, unconsciously urging some color into them. It was immediately clear when she followed Hope into the kitchen where Drew had his hip perched on a high barstool that he’d not been expecting to see her, either. "Hello, Drew. How are you?" Then felt her cheeks flame at such inane politeness. His lips twisted a little. But there was no denying the pleasure on his face when he glanced down at Evan, who seemed to have forgotten his too-big-for-hugs stage, and had thrown his arms around his dad’s waist. Jolie turned away, an ache deep behind her eyes. She blindly picked up a knife and a burstingly ripe tomato that was sitting on the cutting board. Hope caught her gaze and must have read the desperation in them for she calmly announced to the men that, unless they wanted to finish cooking supper themselves, they needed to get out from under foot. They went. So hurriedly that under other circumstances, Jolie would have laughed right out loud. Instead, she found herself trying not to flinch when Drew’s arm brushed her shoulder as he and Evan moved past. But she still felt his touch reverberate through her. And she still seemed to taste his kiss on her lips. She couldn’t help looking up at him, only to find his dark eyes watching her closely. As if he, too, was remembering the previous afternoon when he’d kissed her as if there were no tomorrow...
Chapter 16 Jolie must have imagined that heated look in Drew’s eyes. He stepped past her, his "‘scuse me" barely audible. Once they were alone in the kitchen, Hope gently nudged the swinging door closed, assuring them even more privacy. "Talk about some serious vibes," she murmured as she slid the butcher’s knife out of Jolie’s hand and replaced it with the head of lettuce she’d just washed. "Tear that up instead," she suggested. "Safer than having you cut off a finger." Jolie’s fingers tightened, easily reducing the head into quarters. "He has a helluva nerve," she muttered. Hope’s eyebrows lifted. "Why’s that?" "Coming into the post office yesterday. Kissing me senseless. Then apologizing." Bits of lettuce flew as she tossed bite-size pieces into the salad bowl that Hope had set out. "The nerve, indeed." "And Darian with his stupid comments. I swear, Hope, I’m beginning to think moving away from Weaver might just be a good idea. There’s an opening at the Braden post office. I saw the notice today." Hope looked startled. "You don’t really mean that, do you? Weaver’s your home."
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Jolie’s shoulders slumped. "No. I don’t really mean it. Oh, why did Darian have to come back now of all times?" "Maybe it’s high time he did," Hope said softly. "I...what?" Her friend shrugged, looking faintly apologetic. "If it makes you and Drew wake up to each other, then I can only think that’s a good thing." She tossed tomato wedges into the salad bowl and reached for a cucumber. "You said yourself that you were in love with your husband, Jolie. Maybe it’s time you told him so. Particularly considering the circumstances." Her voice was pointed as her gaze flicked to Jolie’s midriff. Jolie sank down onto the bar stool. "How’d you guess? Did Rebecca tell you?" "Of course she didn’t. Just because she’s my sister-in-law doesn’t mean she’d break a confidence with a patient." Hope poured a glass of lemonade and set it in front of Jolie. "I recognized some of the signs. That fainting episode, for one thing. And you have that look." "Great," Jolie laughed brokenly, her forehead pressed to her palm. "Pretty soon the whole town’ll know, too. Seeing as how it’s so obvious to others." "Obvious to me," Hope chided gently. "You know that you must tell Drew." "I know. I know. Things are just such a mess." "Then put on some gloves and clean up the mess. You know I used to envy you, Jolie. Because you had so much more freedom when we were kids than I did. Gram was so strict about everything. My dress, school, church, my friends." "Your grandmother cared." Jolie said. "My mother — before she died — didn’t much care what I did as long as it didn’t interfere with the path to her gin bottle." "What I failed to realize when we were kids, though, was that what I perceived as your freedom was far outweighed by the responsibilities you bore. And for whatever reason, it’s left you feeling like you’re undeserving of the love that any wife should feel right in expecting from her husband." "Just because you and Tristan didn’t start your marriage under the best of circumstances yet are now as happy as two pups in clover doesn’t mean that is going to occur for Drew and I. We’ve been married years, Hope. Don’t you think that if he...loved — " she had to push out the word " — me, he’d have said something by now?" Hope picked up the salad bowl and headed toward the swinging door. "I don’t know, sweetie. You love him, but it doesn’t seem like you’ve ever told him that."
Chapter 17 Evan sat between Jolie and Drew at the table. He was so clearly delighted to have his parents together that it made Jolie’s heart ache. As a result, she was barely able to swallow more than a few bites of the delicious meal that Hope had prepared. Afterward, Hope plopped the baby on her lap into his playpen and began tidying up the dishes. She pushed a stack of plates into her husband’s hands and looking rather amused, he followed her into the kitchen. Leaving Jolie and Drew alone.
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Evan had already been excused and was fiddling with some new high-tech gadget of Tristan’s in the great room just a bit beyond the dining room. Jolie stifled a sigh and looked down at little Erik in the playpen, smoothing her fingers over his soft cheek. About six months old now, he was a happy baby with his mother’s violet eyes and his father’s striking features. He grabbed her finger and chattered nonsensically. She couldn’t help but wonder what traits her child would carry. How would her and Drew’s genes combine together in the life they’d created? Would the baby have Drew’s beautiful brown eyes? Her naturally curly hair? Or would their child resemble his brother Evan, who — except for his blue eyes — looked so much like Drew that people often remarked on the striking resemblance? "You always did look good with a baby in your arms." Drew’s voice startled her. He’d sounded positively pained. "You make that sound like a bad thing," she said. His lean jaw was so tight it looked white beneath the permanent bronzing caused by hours and hours spent beneath the Wyoming sun. His thumb was working the edge of the label free from the bottle of beer he’d barely touched. "Just a fact." Had he figured out that she was pregnant with his child? "Drew — " He suddenly pushed to his feet. "At least you’ll be able to have more when you and Darian get married." Her jaw dropped. She very nearly shook her head to shake loose the buzzing that followed hard on the heels of his words. She rose and settled Erik on his colorful quilt that was spread on the floor. Painfully aware of Evan who was still within earshot, she pushed an angry finger against Drew’s hard chest. "You may not want me any longer," she hissed, "but coming up with that stupid statement is really low, Drew." He circled her wrist with one hand, easily pulling her finger away from drilling a hole right through his gray shirt. "And denying it serves no purpose, either," he said flatly. "He came out to the house, today, Jolie. I know all about it." Her fingers curled and she twisted her hand, but he held her fast. "Know all about what?" "He told me all about the wedding plans. Don’t pretend you don’t know." If Darian was up to mischief, Jolie didn’t know what she’d do to him. But she promised herself it would be slow and very, very painful. What hurt, however, was the evidence that Drew could so easily discard her. "If he’s making wedding plans," she said thickly, "they’re not with me." Then she called to Evan and told him it was time for them to leave. It should have come as no surprise that he didn’t want to go. She stood there, looking at those two Taggart males — one young and defensive, one mature and intense and utterly, impossibly unreadable — and felt all her self-defenses crumble...
Chapter 18 "Yes, Evan," Jolie said huskily. "Stay with daddy tonight. I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow. T — tell Hope and Tristan goodnight for me, please." She turned hurriedly away from Drew and Evan before she could no longer contain her tears. She hated being so tearful. It made her feel weak and inept. Hormones, she reminded herself as she hurried out to her car, pulling her jacket on as she went. It had to be hormones making her so emotional. So unequipped to handle the mess in which she’d suddenly found herself.
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Watching Jolie tear out of the house like the devil was at her heels, Drew frowned. She’d been pale and quiet throughout supper, casting him surreptitious looks when she’d thought he hadn’t been looking. He’d figured she was trying to come up with a way to break the news that she and Darian were already planning their future. But just now, when he’d brought it out into the open, she’d looked as white and shaky as she had when she’d passed out into Darian’s arms the other day. The realization had him on his feet. What if she fainted while she was driving back home? No, not home. To the apartment that she was currently staying in. Tris came into the room. "Did I hear Jolie leave?" "Yeah." Drew leaned over Evan. "You mind staying here with Hope and Tris for a bit?" Evan, who was once again thoroughly occupied with the computerized toy, shrugged. "You gonna go get Mom?" Drew didn’t know how to answer that one. "I’m gonna make sure she gets home okay," he finally settled for. *** The windows of Jolie’s apartment were dark. If it weren’t for the sight of her car parked near the back door, Drew would have thought she wasn’t there. He threw his truck in park and pushed open the door. It had started to snow again. He headed toward the door, stopping short when it unexpectedly opened. Darian, head down and hands shoved in his pockets, strode around the side of the building and disappeared from sight. Drew caught the gleam of Jolie’s gilded curls as she stood in the doorway. His half-brother hadn’t noticed him, but Jolie sure in hell did. In the faint light shining from behind her, he saw her stiffen and begin to shut the door. His boot stopped its progress. She didn’t fight him. Merely turned away. He pushed open the door and followed her inside. He found her sitting in the kitchen, arms folded tightly around her slender body. She didn’t speak. Just tossed her wild mane of curls behind her shoulders and looked at him in the dim light. "Where did Darian go?" He heard her sigh faintly. "Darian. Always Darian," she murmured. "To Braden, I imagine." "What for?" Her lips pressed together for a moment. "Because that’s where his on-and-off fiancée lives..."
Chapter 19 "His fiancée." Drew repeated the words, unable to quite believe them.
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"Yes," Jolie assured. "His fiancée. He told you of his plans but obviously neglected to tell you the name of his intended. I suppose he thought it was one more thing that Helen would have told you. Do you think I’d make it up?" He shoved his hand through his hair, even as he cursed his half-brother all over again. "I’m sorry." Jolie looked up at him, her expression sad. "For what? That you’ve lost your easy excuse to call it quits with me?" "Dammit, Jolie — " She popped up to her feet, slashing her hand in the air. "Just stop. I don’t have the stomach for this right now." She walked into the living room. "Where’s Evan, anyway?" "Still at Tristan and Hope’s." He followed her, catching her arm in his hand. Feeling her go stiff as a board. He ignored it and turned her inexorably around to face him. "I’m sorry that he hurt you again." Admitting it didn’t come easy. "Who, Darian?" She stared at him with that same look she’d been wearing for the past few days. The one that silently asked if he’d lost his mind. "The only thing that Darian’s return proved was that our marriage is a sham." Her throat worked. "I’d thought...hoped — " Something hard and tight lodged in Drew’s chest. A sham? He’d devoted his life to Jolie and their son even though he’d known they weren’t truly his. It was a hard truth to face. "Hoped what?" Her lashes swept down, hiding her tawny eyes. "We’ve been...married...a while, Drew. But I don’t think we’ve ever talked about what’s in our hearts. Not really. We talk about Evan, we talk about our friends and what’s going on around Weaver. We talk about the horses you train and about my job at the post office. But that’s about it." "I know what’s in your heart." "Do you?" Her lips twisted. "You’ve got one up on me, then. All I know is that you don’t want me, anymore." "Dammit, I’ll always want you." The admission came out, low and fierce. "But I want you to be happy, more. And if that means Darian, then that’s something I’ve gotta live with." "When have I ever suggested that I would only be happy with him? I don’t love your half-brother!" "You used to cry out his name in your sleep. Every damned night, Jolie." Her lips parted. "Used to, Drew. Did you ever ask me about the dreams? Of course not! You’re Mr. Tall, Dark, and Silent. The man who sacrificed his future for the poor little pregnant girl who couldn’t take care of her life. The man who gave up everything just to ensure his nephew didn’t get raised by strangers!" "I got everything," he growled. "But I knew it wasn’t mine to keep. You were Darian’s." "I wasn’t. And I’m not." She swiped her fingers over her cheeks. "I was 18 and infatuated with a handsome college boy who was home on summer vacation. But I got over that infatuation pretty darned quickly when it became clear he’d only been out for some summer’s entertainment." "Your dreams — " "Nightmares!" Her arms lifted. "Nightmares, Drew. When I’d find him stealing Evan away from us. And they went away, didn’t they? Because I knew that you and I would never let anything happen to our — " her voice broke " — to our child."
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Each tear that he saw slide down her cheek felt like acid burning in his soul. He could no more resist her pain than he could swing from the moon. "Ahh, curly cue," he murmured, brushing his thumb over that trail of tears. "You deserve so much more than I can ever give you..."
Chapter 20 Jolie closed her eyes against the sight of Drew. So tall and darkly beautiful. "I know you don’t love me," she whispered. "But pushing me toward Darian isn’t something that makes up for what you don’t feel. I don’t blame you, Drew. All you wanted was to make sure my child was provided for; that he remained a Taggart. My falling — " "All I wanted was you. The baby...Evan. He was icing on the cake." She shook her head, disbelieving. "You married me because you felt sorry for me." "I married you because I looked into your golden brown eyes and saw forever." Fresh tears collected in her eyes. "But you didn’t...why...we — oh dammit, Drew!" She wanted to kick him. She wanted to kiss him. "Are you in love with Darian or not?" "No! I’m in love with — " His tension suddenly penetrated the cocoon of misery surrounding her. An unexpected calm swept through her and she thought she might well contentedly drown in the depths of his dark eyes. "I’m in love with you," she finished quietly. "Darian was the flash. But you...you were the substance. The real thing. And I knew it practically from the start." He folded her in his arms. "You deserve more." His lips burned over her temple. "I thought I could let you walk away, but I can’t." "Push me away, you mean. You can spend the next few years paying for it." She twisted her head around until her lips found his. "Say it, Drew. Give me the words. Just once and I’ll never ask again." He kissed her. Long and deep. And when he lifted his head, his breath was ragged and her head was filled with stars. "I love you. Always have. Always will." "Then why do you keep saying I deserve more? All I want is what I have. You. Evan." "And babies. You told me once you wanted a houseful of kids." He gently captured her face in his hands. He pressed his mouth to hers. Then let go of her, stepping away. Jolie reached out for him, but he’d turned away and didn’t see her outstretched hand. "I can’t give you that houseful." His voice was rough. "You stay with me and Evan is all we’ll ever have." It was a good thing there was a chair nearby, for she sank weakly onto the arm of it. Having Evan would have been enough, she thought faintly. "Why would you think that?" "I had the mumps when I was younger. The doctor said I could write off...well, you know." She settled her hand on her abdomen and sent up a prayer of thanks. "You never had a test to be certain." "What was the point? Just more proof that I can’t father a child."
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"Oh, Drew," she whispered. "Do you know what tomorrow is?" "Our wedding anniversary." "Hmm." She pushed to her feet and moved over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek against his strong back. "Do you know what tonight is?" She felt the deep breath he drew. "Six years ago was the first time we made love." "That night was when I truly felt like Drew Taggart’s bride. I knitted you a sweater for our wedding anniversary," she murmured, and practically felt his reaction to the seemingly odd comment. "I bought you a bottle of that perfume you’re always drooling over." She smiled faintly and, still keeping her hands on him, slipped around to face him. "But I have another gift for the both of us. For our true anniversary." She took his big hands in hers and pressed them to her flat belly. He looked pained. "Jolie — " "I’m pregnant, Drew. You and I...we’ve made a baby together. That is why I fainted the other day." "But...how — " She tucked her tongue between her teeth, trying very hard to contain the joyful laughter bubbling inside her. Oh, she loved him so! She stretched up, wrapping her hands around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against him. And now that the truth was out between them, she planned to tell him she loved him on an exceedingly regular basis. "In the usual way," she assured gently. "If you’d like a reminder of the process, I’ll be happy to show you." Drew swept his hands down Jolie’s back and stepped back, staring incredulously at her. "You’re serious." She nodded. Smiled and the brilliance lit up every corner of his soul. He swept her against him, kissing her, swinging her in a circle. It seemed Darian’s return hadn’t been such a bad thing, after all. "It’s a miracle," he whispered. "You’re a miracle." "It’s love. And I have only one more thing I want." Jolie tilted her head back, looking up at her husband, feeling the love in his eyes like a warm glow. "Anything." "Let’s go get Evan," she said. "And then let’s go home." "Yeah." Drew’s smile was long and slow and utterly sweet. If she hadn’t already loved him, she’d have fallen for him just for that smile alone. "Let’s go home," he said. "Where we all belong."
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Hot Target by Suzanne McMinn Stationed halfway around the world, charitable worker Diamond Chavez lost everything she knew and loved in an attack on the village where she worked. Now living back home with her daughter, Ally, she’s finally beginning to put the pieces of her life back together—until a stranger shows up at her door. Quinn Monroe claims to be from PAX, the humanitarian organization that Diamond was once a part of. Barging into their home, he insists that Ally is in danger—but could he be the threat?
Chapter 1: "I want to go see the kittens! Please!" Diamond Chavez looked over her shoulder at the cute-as-a-kitten herself five-year-old. Ally had her little face scrunched in her beggar pose. She was so adorable at it. And she knew it. "Okay, but we have to leave for school in ten minutes. So be back in five." Sparks danced in Ally's clear blue eyes. Pouty face all gone. "Thank you, Mommy!" She threw her thin arms around Di's waist then whirled away, ponytail flying. The back door slammed, rattling the old farmhouse. Di blinked back the sting of dampness behind her eyes. Mommy. God, that still hit her like a rock every time. She was so lucky. Lucky to be back in West Virginia. Lucky to have Ally. Lucky to not be dead like Ally's parents, and Nick. She should have been there, on Valuatu Island, the day her world had blown up and her entire immediate family—except Ally—had been destroyed. She'd had problems with her pregnancy, so she'd been airlifted back to the States for medical care the tiny war-ravaged Pacific island couldn't provide. She'd lost the baby, and the next day, she'd lost her husband and her life to the madman who'd decided if he couldn't have Valuatu Island, then no one else could. Through the window over the kitchen sink, she watched Ally skip across the backyard grass. Barefoot, dammit. She didn’t even have school shoes on yet, and she needed a sweater over that sleeveless top. The little girl reached the old barn door and banged inside. Di set the last dish in the drying rack, turned off the water, reached for a towel, and reminded herself she’d sworn to stop fussing over every little thing about Ally. The doctors all said she was fine. Fine. Really fine.
Chapter 2: Tires crunched on the gravel out front, the sound carrying through the open front windows along with the honeysuckle scent and bird song. If that was Aunt Nonny again, bugging her about going to that damn June barbecue of hers to meet “nice boys,” she was going to scream. She hadn’t come home to Johnson Creek to get married. She’d come home because there was nowhere else to go. She’d needed a place where she couldn’t see Nick’s face, feel Nick’s touch, hear Nick’s friends from the PAX League telling her how sorry they were, or be confronted by reporters who still wanted to talk to survivors from the ill-fated humanitarian mission to Valuatu Island. She’d had to get Ally away from all of that, too. And her late grandmother’s secluded old home in a bend in a holler in the West Virginia mountains had sounded just right. At the time, she’d forgotten about Aunt Nonny living three miles up the road. But it wasn’t Aunt Nonny’s big Chevrolet in the driveway and it definitely wasn’t Aunt Nonny coming up the walk.
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Her pulse swerved where she stood in the still-shadowed parlor, watching the stranger through the front window. She didn’t like strangers. They were never good news. I’m sorry, Mrs. Chavez, there was an incident on the island…. An incident. That’s what they’d called it when a representative from PAX had come to the hospital to tell her about the bombing. For a beat, all she could hear was the thunder of her heart in her ears. She forced herself to shake off the unreasonable nerves. Maybe he was selling vacuum cleaners. Maybe he was canvassing for the upcoming mayoral election.
Chapter 3: She closed the distance to the door, swung it open before he could knock. He reached the porch, and filled it all the way up. Or at least that’s what it felt like. He had dark hair, long enough to curl over the collar of the white button-down shirt he wore under a leather jacket. Jeans rode down his lean legs to meet serviceable boots. His eyes, caught in some shade between brown and black, had a take-charge air that made her want to shut the door for no good reason other than she was absolutely positive they didn’t make men like this in Johnson Creek. Men who exuded masculine power like they were poster boys for action movies. “Mrs. Chavez?” His voice came out low, intense, and the hard planes of his face told her he wasn’t here to offer her a cool deal on a vacuum cleaner. She backed up a bit, her hand still on the edge of the front door. He knew her name. It was Gran’s name on the mailbox, still. Not hers. “Can I help you?” “My name is Quinn Monroe. I’m with PAX.” He held out his hand. She didn’t take it. She was too busy trying to swallow the huge lump in her throat threatening to cut off her supply of oxygen. “Well, I’m not,” she managed. Dammit, her voice was shaking. Her knees were shaking. She had to get a grip. He wasn’t here to tell her someone else she loved was dead. She hadn’t had anything to do with PAX for over two years now. And that was just how she liked it. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m really busy. I’m about to leave to take my daughter to school and—” He lowered the hand he’d been offering. “This is about your daughter.” Her veins thumped. “What about my daughter?”
Chapter 4: “If I could come inside—” “This isn’t a good time.” “This is important, Mrs. Chavez.” “So is getting my daughter to school on time.” There was no sound from the kitchen. Ally was still out at the barn. And suddenly Di didn’t care what this ominous stranger had to say about her. “I’m sorry. I know you must have come a long way, but I have to go now. You’ll have to get in touch with me later.” Or never. Never would work for her. She stepped back to shut the door. His palm slammed against the cracked white paint on the old oak and held it. Laser eyes pinned her through the narrowed opening. New panic arrowed into her system.
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“I’m afraid later isn’t an option,” he said. “If you don’t leave right this minute, I’m going to call the police.” It would take them twenty minutes, at least, to get there, but maybe he didn’t know that. Maybe he didn’t care. He was six utterly edgy feet of power to her five-foot-five slender frame. “And I’ll be writing a letter to PAX.” Lame. That one was really lame. Maybe she should threaten to tell his mother on him, too. She felt a bubble of hysteria rise in her chest. “The police might not get here in time,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m here in time.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And he was more than starting to scare her. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded, and he pushed the door open. She stumbled backward, her mind racing. Run. Just run. And yet she knew that was hopeless. She’d never reach Ally in the barn, get her to the car in the detached garage and get out of here. The stranger slamming the front door of her house behind him looked like he could squash bugs blindfolded while leaping a couple of tall buildings.
Chapter 5: “Just tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything.” Anything but Ally, her heart screamed. She heard another crunch of gravel in the driveway. Then she couldn’t hear anything because her pulse was roaring, absolutely roaring, in her ears when he reached into his jacket, pulled out a gun, and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of view of the window. “In about fifteen seconds two men are going to knock on your door. They’re going to tell you they’re from PAX, just like I did, and ask about your daughter. And you’re going to tell them that she’s already at school.” His hot eyes pierced her through the shadowed parlor. She could barely feel his fingers gripping her arm. All she could feel was her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. “And if you don’t, they’re going to blow your head off and the only good thing about that is you won’t have to know what they’re going to do to your little girl.” One car door slammed outside, then another. Diamond Chavez’s face turned ghost-white and in spite of the fact that this was a job, just a job, Quinn’s heart kicked—hard. He cared way too much about the fact that he was terrifying her. If she was scared, then good. He needed her scared. He needed her cooperation. Without it, she’d be dead in the next sixty seconds. So would he, and the little girl would wish she was when terror leader Adal Chaba got hold of her and finished the job he’d started on Valuatu Island. In twenty-four hours three children had already gone missing, their parents violently murdered. Two more had had close calls, close enough that PAX knew the pattern now, knew what was going on. Ten children, including little Ally Chavez, were in danger. It was up to the new covert arm of the PAX League—once purely a humanitarian relief organization but now something far more—to round them up before it was too late.
Chapter 6: And somehow, some way, explain the truth about their children to parents like this—an ordinary woman in neat denim shorts and sunny yellow peasant top looking sexily innocent, just waiting for him to blow up her world. Again. Because he knew she’d already had her world destroyed once.
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“Why should I believe you?” she whispered, and her voice wobbled even as he could see her fighting to keep some sort of control. “Because I already know Ally is here and you’re still alive.” Her vivid blue eyes flickered with fear. Footsteps pounded on the porch steps. She swung around, her blond hair dancing across her slight shoulders. He pulled her back, bringing her frightened eyes right up close. He could feel the panicked tension in her body, almost hear the thud of her pulse. She was confused and shocked and he had absolutely no doubt that she didn’t know what to believe, that her head was reeling right now and all she wanted to do was grab her child—wherever she was—and run. Unfortunately, that would get her killed. “Trust me,” he whispered, pinning her gaze, willing her to do the right thing. And if she didn’t, there wouldn’t be a hell of a lot he’d be able to do to fix it. “Please.” He held her gaze a beat longer, fighting through her fear. “Your daughter’s life is in danger and I’m doing everything I can to save her.” A knock rapped on the door. He could feel her shudder. She lifted her free hand, slapped it over her mouth for a beat as if she was fighting not to be sick or scream. He pulled her over to the door and positioned himself out of sight behind it. Her own car was out of sight, probably in the nearby detached garage, so they wouldn’t realize his car in the drive wasn’t hers. They wouldn’t know he’d beat them here. Not as long as Diamond Chavez played her part.
Chapter 7: Her shaking hand reached for the knob and she pulled it open a few scant inches. “Can I help you?” she said. The thin strain of her voice punched him with remorse that he hadn’t gotten here sooner, even as he knew he’d gotten here as fast as he could. Her shoulders were straight, and even if her long, shaking legs wanted to collapse from under her, she wasn’t going to do it. She was strong. She was a survivor. He had to count on that, for both their sakes. “Mrs. Chavez? My name is James Burton and this is my partner Trey Cobb. We’re from PAX.” “I’m not with PAX, anymore,” she said. “We know that, ma’am. May we come in?” “I’m sorry. I was just on my way out. I have a doctor’s appointment—” “This is urgent, ma’am. It’s about your daughter. Is she here?” “She’s at school.” “You’ll need to pick her up from school, ma’am. This can’t wait. It’s a matter of life or death.” “I can’t pick her up. They’re going on a field trip. To Charleston. To the museum. They’ll be gone already.” A beat passed. Two. He could see the hand she’d kept on the door shaking like a leaf. “What time does your daughter’s school get out?” “What is this about?”
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Good, he thought. Good. If she cooperated too much, they’d be suspicious. “This is about the Valuatu Island bombing, ma’am. Your daughter’s sick. Very sick. If she doesn’t get into immediate treatment, she could die.” Quinn could see the control in her spine drop and her legs nearly buckle under her. He reached out behind the door and swept his hand against her soft, shaking back to support her.
Chapter 8: “I don’t understand.” Desperation choked her voice. He slipped his fingers beneath the bottom of the peasant blouse and tugged just slightly, willing her to get that damn door shut, not give in to panic now. Damn them for scaring the hell out of her before he’d had a chance to tell her right. “We’ll explain everything, Mrs. Chavez.” “I have to go now,” she said, shaking. “School gets out at three, so if you’ll come back then—” “All right, ma’am. We appreciate your cooperation.” The footsteps moved on the porch and she shut the door. She spun, her eyes drenched and wild. “I’m getting Ally,” she said, “and I’m getting out of here. I’m not going anywhere with you, and I swear to God that you can just shoot me right now if you think you’re stopping me.” “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m trying to save Ally’s life—I told you that.” “You didn’t tell me Ally was sick!” “Ally isn’t sick!” He stuffed the gun into the holster inside his jacket and grabbed hold of her. “She’s not sick. Not exactly. She’s—” God, he had no idea how to tell her. “We’ll explain everything when—” “You sound just like them,” she said sharply, fighting him. “I don’t trust you, either. Either shoot me where I’m standing or get out of my way because I’m getting my daughter and I’m getting out of here!” He wasn’t letting go. “You can’t walk out of here with Ally right now.” He pulled her to the middle of the room where they could just barely see the driveway around the edge of the curtain blowing through the open window. The two men stood in the drive. They’d opened the car doors but they weren’t getting in. “They’re still out there. They’re waiting. And you’d better hope to God Ally doesn’t come walking around the front of the house. Where is she?”
Chapter 9: She blinked. “Oh, God. She’s outside.” Where outside?” She pressed her lips together. Dammit, she didn’t want to tell him. She trusted him about one iota more than she trusted the men standing by their car outside, taking their sweet time deciding whether or not to get in and drive off. A breeze kicked in through the open window. Leaves rustled in the trees and wind chimes tinkled from the front porch. Then a door banged from the back of the house and a voice called out loud and clear, loud and clear enough to carry all the way out front: “Mommy?”
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Sheer panic roared in Di’s ears. The world around her slowed and nothing she could do was fast enough to stop this nightmare. One of the men outside dipped his hand inside the open car and pulled something out, something cylindrical and ominous that he lifted in his arm. Her head swiveled toward her precious daughter, skipping innocently into the room with this stranger, Quinn Monroe, and his gun. “Run!” Monroe yelled. “Run!” And he shoved her, hard, toward the kitchen. “It’s a bomb!” Di’s pulse boomed in her ears. The cylindrical object flew in through the open parlor window and danced across the floor, seeming to race with her as she ran. “Run, Ally!” she screamed. Ahead, she could see Ally frozen, then automatically turning, running back toward the kitchen door. She had no idea what happened to the stranger as she reached the door, already hanging open. Ally’s little legs streaked out ahead of her, down the steps, back out into the sun-dappled yard.
Chapter 10: Then all she knew was the deafening blast, and all she felt was the ground rising up to meet her face as she slammed forward. Heat rushed over her and flaming bits of wood flew as she struggled to her feet only to be pushed down again, this time by a hard body that covered and protected her as more wood rained down around them. Stomach in her throat, limbs numb, she lay there for a shocked beat, then he moved, touched her face, and against the black smoke sky, his eyes hit her, urgent and determined. There was a cut on the side of his face and blood streaked his cheek. “Get up!” he yelled roughly, reaching for her arm. “Get up. Come on! We’ve got to get cover!” Ally! She scrambled to her feet, desperate, searching. Ahead, smoke rolled out toward the barn and woods, covering the familiar farm in an eerie cloak. She was afraid to look back, afraid of what she’d see there, what was left of the hundred-year-old farmhouse she’d inherited from Gran. Where was Ally? She couldn’t feel her legs. All she could feel was him, Quinn Monroe, behind her, pushing her on, and the painful bang of her heart against the wall of her chest. The barn lay straight ahead through the billowing smoke. She reached the door, flung it open. “Ally?” she screamed, her voice breathless and dry and hardly recognizable as her own. The barn door slammed shut behind her and the hard palm that belonged to Quinn Monroe clamped down over her mouth. “No,” he ordered roughly. “Shhh.” Her mind reeled. Would this nightmare never end? He pushed her on, into the barn, past the empty horse stalls, past the scattering, wild-eyed nest of kittens in the tack room, past an antiquated tractor, shoving her into the corner between tall stacked bales of hay. No Ally!
Chapter 11: Her life had gone crazy. He was crazy, maybe as crazy as the men who’d just blown up her house. As if he could read her mind, he pulled her around, taking his hand off her mouth, his hard eyes pinning her from his brutally handsome face. “They don’t know if you made it out of the house,” he whispered, his low voice burning into her. “And they don’t know about me. And we don’t want them to know, not yet.”
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“Ally—” she started, whispering, too, but not willing to hide here in this barn when her child was nowhere to be found. She clutched the front of his shirt, desperate. “I saw her run into the woods,” he said quickly, quietly. “They’ll look for her there, but not yet. And before they get a chance, they’ll be dead.” He gave her a look of warning. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” She felt terror gripping her, leaving her shivering even as she felt the heat of the fire still on her skin. One of his powerful arms braced her from behind, as if afraid she’d run, and the other reached inside his jacket for his gun—the gun he was apparently quite comfortable using. What the hell kind of PAX humanitarian worker was he? Beneath the hand still on his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, pumping fast, but steady…sure. The world around them had completely ripped apart and he’d barely blinked. The exterior walls of the old barn were cracked, smoky light filtering in. She followed Quinn Monroe’s level gaze to the splinter of yard visible through the boards. Two figures appeared around the side of what had once been her house, walking determinedly through the smoke, guns held in outstretched arms.
Chapter 12: Oh, God. Oh, God. She felt every bone in her legs melt and she sucked in a dry, painful breath as she held her shaking spine straight and somehow kept her feet. Ally. She had to get through this for Ally. Your daughter’s sick. Very sick. Her mind reeled again, and she shot another look at the man peering out into the smoke-filled yard, his weapon gripped tightly, competently, in his fist. She was depending on him, this stranger. I already know Ally is here and you’re still alive. Well, he hadn’t blown up her house, she’d have to give him that, she thought, slightly hysterically. But he hadn’t saved her child yet. And for all the questions bouncing wildly through her mind, Where was Ally? was the only one that mattered now. He still held her tightly against him with one arm, and he felt like one solid sheet of muscle. She couldn’t stand to stay here, couldn’t stand to not be with Ally, comforting her, protecting her. Ally’s short five-year-old life flashed before her eyes and Di’s adrenaline roared. She couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything but Ally, somewhere in the woods. She had to be scared out of her mind— She glanced back through the split boards and all the blood ran out of her head. She heard the mewl of a frightened kitten. The spit of the fire was consuming the house and reaching with wild fingers for the nearby garage. The rock of her pulse was barreling out of control. One of the men stood not ten feet away, staring at the barn, weapon at the ready. The other man was nowhere to be seen. Quinn Monroe’s intense, see-all gaze hadn’t moved, but his hand had. She watched as if from very far away, when it was actually only inches, as he pulled back the trigger and then a loud pop exploded in her ears.
Chapter 13: As the bullet hit, the man’s body punched backward, hitting the ground outside the barn. Quinn pivoted back, hearing a sharp intake of breath from the woman. Her wide, terrified eyes scorched his—she was fighting so hard to not fall apart. He was here to save her daughter and to save her, but he nearly forgot all of that as he pulled her into his arms.
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His heart and mind melded into one hot sensation, just about shooting his discipline to hell when she practically crawled up his body to get closer. She was scared of him, but she was scared of them more—and right now he was all she had. She needed him, needed his comfort, his protection, his strength. He shuddered, feeling the shock of unexpected emotion uncoiling inside him. He’d forgotten how it felt to be needed this way, to need someone else. All his intense training dropped away and he was a man, just a man, holding a woman, and it took everything inside of him to remember that she was just his job. The huge, liquid eyes locked with his held a stunned panic he knew too well. It was the stunned panic he felt, too. He could feel her heart thundering, just like his. Quickly, he lifted a finger to his lips, reminding her of the need for silence. He still wasn’t sure they would walk out of this barn alive. He could feel her heated skin through the thin material of the peasant top, feel the gentle curve of her spine. She was the softest thing he’d ever held and yet she blinked, swallowed hard and nodded as if she were a PAX agent herself. Diamond Chavez had no training, had no idea what was going on, but she tipped her chin and straightened her shoulders because she was a survivor. She was determined to be brave, determined to save her little girl, even while her drenched eyes shone with fear.
Chapter 14: There was a creak from across the building, then the sound of the barn door slamming open. She jerked, and he pulled her against him again. He could feel the fast rise and fall of her chest as she fought new panic. The gun felt heavy and hot in his hand. One more. One more of Adal Chaba’s evil henchmen to go, and he’d have a chance to get Diamond Chavez and her little girl to safety. The U.S. government had failed, and now innocent people were paying the price—but he’d be damned if that price was going to include Diamond Chavez and five-year-old Ally. Chaba had run a bio warfare factory on Valuatu Island before the U.S. had chased him out. The dictator had managed to sneak out with his materials, only to use them in vengeance against the natives and American humanitarian workers assisting in post-war reconstruction. And so the PAX League, once an organization dedicated solely to the philosophical pursuit of global peace through human rights missions, environmental campaigns and charitable projects such as the Valuatu Island hunger delegation, was now in the process of transforming into something more. The new top-secret layer of PAX, Paranormal Allied eXperts, had formed upon the recent discovery that a shocking number of the children who’d survived the Valuatu Island bombing had returned home with strange aftereffects. Physiological mutations. Research had already begun into the chemical secrets of Chaba’s bomb in a drive to not only save those children but to create new superagents just like them, with powers that could save the world. Little Ally Chavez’s medical records had already been tapped, and the fact that Chaba’s men had tossed a bomb into the house knowing she was there meant they, too, knew what had happened to Ally Chavez— what turn the mutation had taken in her case.
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They knew the blast could kill the woman who had become her mother…but not the little girl. And somehow, some way, he was going to have to explain that to Diamond Chavez. If he got her out of here alive. How long Chaba had understood the varied impact of his bomb on survivors wasn’t known, but the sudden rash of kidnappings and murders connected to the children’s families had told PAX they were out of time. The fledgling agency’s small corps of agents had been dispatched just nine hours ago to gather up the remaining targets. Quinn had picked up a family in the middle of the night in Virginia, sent them back with the team, and then headed straight here. He needed backup, badly. His team would have already dropped off the family from last night and should have been heading back his way. He prayed to God they weren’t too late. Outside, the sound of the fire consuming what was left of the farmhouse cracked and popped. Inside, he heard the thud of his own pulse and felt the quiver of Diamond Chavez’s spine as the footsteps moved slowly, methodically, through the barn. The door of an empty horse stall banged. Then another. Footsteps. Kittens cried as the footsteps moved into the tack room then back out. Quinn stood so still, he would swear he could hear the man’s breathing. Diamond didn’t move, her eyes fierce and frightened on him as he held on to her gaze. Another step brought Chaba’s man even with the antiquated tractor. Quinn dropped his hand from Diamond’s back, and slowly, carefully, without a sound, pushed her behind him, made her as safe as she could be. He didn’t want to think about how he’d feel if she died. And the little girl… He had to block the angelic face of the girl who’d skipped into Diamond’s parlor a few moments before from his mind, focus on nothing but the cold, hard, deadly mission before him.
Chapter 16: One more step, two. Come on, bastard, he willed silently, lifting his gun. He wanted nothing more out of life in this moment than to send one more of Chaba’s men straight to hell. The barn floor creaked as the man came around the tractor. He would be in a straight line now through the hay. And before the bastard could think the same thing he did, Quinn fired. New shock hit Diamond as the thud of the body hitting the barn floor told her Quinn’s shot had struck home. She’d just seen two men die. Not to mention watch her house being blown up. She wanted Ally. And she wanted to crawl up Quinn’s body again and hang on. He was a stranger, but he’d saved her over and over already, not just physically but emotionally, as well. He’d held her, and somehow he’d made her believe in him, and believe in herself, too. She leaped forward as Quinn moved slowly, carefully around the hay bales, weapon at the ready. She couldn’t see what was going on, but by God, she wasn’t letting him leave her. Then there was a sound and Quinn moved like lightning, boom, and fired again. The thud this time was final. With the second shot, the man wasn’t getting back up. She rushed after Quinn, barreling into the powerhouse line of his back. “He’s dead,” he said, stepping around the body of the man she’d talked to at the door of the farmhouse only a few minutes before. The man who’d claimed his name was James Burton and that he was from PAX. Blood spilled out over his chest from two bullet holes.
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Quinn shoved the gun in his jacket then stooped, put his finger to the man’s pulse to make certain. His icehard eyes locked with Di’s. His jaw looked like something sculpted out of granite even as his movements remained methodical, casual, fully at ease in this danger. “Thank God,” she breathed, relief whipping through her, followed by a sharp urgency. “Ally—” He stood. “We’ll find her,” he promised. She ran after him as he strode through the barn. “What do they want? What do they want with Ally?” The desperate questions ripped out of her. He sliced back a look suddenly filled with something tortured, something dark that frightened her more than anything else, even the men who’d come after them. “There’s no time—” They reached the front of the barn and he stopped, unclipped a device from his belt loop, flipped it open. “This is all the time I have!” she cried, fighting down the lump of hysteria threatening to rise into her throat, make her burst into awful tears and maybe pound her fists on his chest. “I want to know what they want! What is wrong with Ally? Just— God, I’m not asking you for a dissertation. I just want an answer!” “All right.” His gaze held her, his voice low and quick. “There was something in Chaba’s bomb. The chemical cause is unknown at this time, but the contamination is real.” “She is sick then!” Contamination. The word rocked over and over through her mind. “She’s not sick!” Quinn Monroe gripped her shoulder with one hand. “She’ll need some specialized treatment, and she—” He stopped, and her skin crawled with anxiety. “She what?” Her voice came out in a raw whisper she could barely hear over the bang of her heart.
Chapter 18: “Some of the children have been found to have genetic mutations. They can live normal lives,” he rushed on at the sharp intake of her breath. “But they aren’t normal. We’ve already seen Ally’s records.” “No. No, they told me Ally was fine. The doctors assured me she was fine.” The doctors had run tests and more tests and no matter what they did, they couldn’t find any disease in spite of the evident abnormalities. “They said—” “They wouldn’t have understood what they were seeing. They wouldn’t have understood what her abnormal temperature readings meant, why her cell count was so high. They wouldn’t have understood that—” “That what?” Now she fisted the material of his shirt in her hand. “What?” “There’s a reason they threw that bomb in the house when they knew Ally was there. They knew it wouldn’t kill her.” Di’s stomach dropped away. She felt dizzy and scared and she wanted to believe he was crazy all over again. This was nonsense. But even as her mind reeled with denial, she knew Ally was different, always had been, ever since the bombing. What did he mean, they knew that bomb wouldn’t kill her?
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“We’ll explain everything,” Quinn said. He started punching buttons on the face of the device he held. “But first we’ve got to find her. Where would she go in the woods? Where would she hide?” Her life had been taken over by the unbelievable, and in the last thirty seconds he’d just made it even more unbelievable. She swallowed hard. Ally. Just focus on Ally. The little girl could be anywhere for all she knew, but—
Chapter 19: “Maybe PawPaw’s tree,” she said, shaking, God she was shaking so hard and she had to be strong for Ally. “Across the creek, there used to be a cabin. It’s torn down now, but there’s a tree house my grandfather built when I was a little girl. One of my cousins repaired it after I moved back here and I take Ally there whenever we go for walks in the woods.” The last time she’d taken Ally for a walk in the woods seemed like a hundred years ago, another lifetime, even though it had just been last week. Ally loved to play in the lazy creek barefoot, catch tadpoles and skip rocks, then they’d go to the tree house and bring Gran’s antique children’s tea set and…her heart lodged in her throat and her veins crashed with the need to hold her little girl. Now, right now. “Let’s go.” “Wait.” His level gaze pinned her. “Where, exactly, is this tree? What direction from here? Where’s the closest clearing to this tree house?” “It’s across the creek just above where it flows into the river. There’s a clearing there—my aunt owns it and she sold timber last summer.” “Good.” Then he spoke into the device he held to his ear. “Need backup ASAP,” he said, and continued in response, “Two men. That I know about. Both down.” He propped the communication device between his ear and shoulder to pull out another small instrument. The electronic panel on its surface glowed to life as he hit buttons and a map of Johnson Creek zoomed in. “Where?” he demanded of Di. She swallowed hard, guided him as he scrolled the screen to the location of the timber clearing. He reeled off numbered coordinates that meant nothing to her before shoving the instrument back into his jacket then flipping the communication device shut, as well. “Could take a good fifteen minutes before they get here,” he told her. “Chopper’s on the way.”
Chapter 20: She swallowed hard. Before who got here? Who was he, really? What sort of PAX League did he belong to, because there was nothing about the PAX she knew that she recognized in this formidable man with his gun and his gadgets. A roar sounded above the barn. Quinn Monroe’s see-all eyes suddenly went flat, dead. “That’s a chopper.” “You said it would be fifteen—” “That’s not PAX.” He charged to the open door of the barn. “That’s trouble.” The thunderous rotors brushed by the top of the barn, blasting smoke and debris from the still-burning house. Quinn turned and grabbed Di’s arm. “Looks like I’m not the only one who called for backup, and looks like theirs was closer. We’ve got maybe ten seconds to make the tree line,” he said, low, rough. “And one second to pray they don’t see.”
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Panic charged up Di’s throat. Oh God, no telling how many men would jump out of that chopper and come after them. Quinn Monroe looked like he was made of stone, but he was real, he was human, and they could both be about to die. “Come on,” he urged, his voice hot in her ear now as he pushed her out ahead of him. “The barn will cover us part of the way. I’ll cover you the rest. Run!” Diamond didn’t look back as she raced for the cover of the woods twenty yards from the barn. They had seconds, at most. Quinn felt the first bullet whiz past his ear as they burst between the trees. Bark exploded beside them. Shouts rang out and more shots followed them as Diamond stumbled over a root, fell. Quinn whipped back, shot the closest pursuer, watched the man’s body shoot backward and hit the ground. Then he chased after Diamond, dragged her to her feet, protecting her with his body.
Chapter 21: A hot ball of fire burst in his shoulder. There’d been three of them, and he’d taken out one. Shots fired after them telling him the other two weren’t giving up. In the covering thickness now, he pulled Diamond sideways, taking her on a crisscrossing path to make tracking more difficult. The searing fire in his shoulder burned down his arm as they flew. Branches and underbrush clawed at them as they charged through the blur of vegetation and foliage and tree trunks. Vines and small limbs whipped and scratched at their faces, until the shots and shouts dimmed in the distance. They reached a wide slab of rock stretching out above a bend in a gushing creek that formed a dark pool, before rushing on over cascading stones toward the river. Diamond fell to her knees on the moss-topped rock, choking for air. Quinn pulled her to her feet. Her desperate blue gaze snapped with fear, her chest heaving. Blood sprang from one particularly bad scrape on her cheek. He shoved the gun in his jacket, ran his hands down her shoulders, her arms, even as his own shoulder exploded with pain at every move. Had she been hit? “Are you all right?” His own pain meant nothing. She was terrified, and he wanted to tell her how proud he was of her for how strong she’d been…and still was. When he thought of all she’d been through two years ago, this was achingly unfair, and it wasn’t over yet. And how much he cared about her terror made no sense, except that it just was. She was sexy as hell, but his response to her heat and fear was unexpected…. He couldn’t hear anything suddenly but her wild breaths and the bubbling of the creek. They’d lost the pursuers, but for how long? “Are you okay?” he asked again. “Mrs. Chavez—”
Chapter 22: She laughed in a way that almost sounded like a sob. “I think you can call me Diamond. Di.” Then she blinked, hard, twice, pushing back tears. “I’m okay.” She nodded bravely. Then he saw the moment her gaze dropped and she saw the blood. “You’re—oh, God. You’re shot.” “It’s a flesh wound. I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine at all and it wasn’t a flesh wound, but it was irrelevant to what he needed her to do right now. Sweat ran down his back and he felt a shiver sing through his body. He needed medical attention and he hoped he lived long enough to get it. Di was still staring at him in horror. “Your arm is covered in blood!” she breathed fiercely. “You’re not fine! You’re hurt.”
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“Which way is PawPaw’s tree?” he asked tightly, urgently. “We can’t stop now.” She swallowed visibly. “We have to get across the creek. This isn’t a good spot. Here. I’ll show you.” She reached for his good hand, started to lead him off the rock to head along the creek bank. He stopped her. “Wait.” He stood there, eyes locked with hers, listening. Where had Chaba’s men gone? The silence of the woods, broken only by the endless babble of the creek, closed around them eerily. They needed to get to this PawPaw’s tree she’d told him about, but the last thing he wanted to do was lead Chaba’s men straight to Ally. “Where’s PawPaw’s tree from here?” he asked, his gut tight now, knowing what he had to do and not liking it. She wouldn’t like it, either. But they both had to put Ally first. She pointed. “Across the creek, that way. Another couple hundred yards or so, the woods thin out and then there’s a clearing where the cabin used to be—you can see the bare ground. The field where they cut timber last year is there. PawPaw’s tree is an old oak, gnarled, huge. The tree house—”
Chapter 23: “All right.” He deliberately made his voice hard, low, fast, brooking no disagreement. “Go.” “What?” Her eyes widened sharply. “You and Ally come first,” he said. “Go, hurry.” He pushed her along the creek bank. “If anyone follows, I’ll take care of them. I’ll be right behind you.” Maybe. If he survived. “Why?” Her eyes flashed panic. “They’re back there,” he reminded her. “They’re coming. I’ll stay here, cover you. You need to go to Ally. In a few more minutes, the chopper will be there, in that clearing. Trust me—when you see the chopper there, that’s PAX. Trust me, Di.” She dragged in a raw breath, blinked back tears in the drenched eyes pinned to his. “You really are with PAX, aren’t you?” He nodded, and he knew he owed her answers. The bald truth was that these could be his last seconds with her. “PAX has changed, Di. You’ll find out everything after you and Ally get back to D.C. There’s a new underlayer to the League, designed to protect future humanitarian missions and the world, designed to make sure nothing like Valuatu Island ever happens again. Ally…she’s not the only one. Research is already underway. We’re building agents, agents like you could never imagine. Agents who will have powers like Ally has, and the others. But first we have to save the children. Go, Di. Go to Ally!” There was a sound in the woods behind him and his pulse thudded heavily. There was no more time, not for him, not for Di, not for finding a better place to cross the creek. There were still two men on their tail. A bullet whizzed past his ear. Di jerked, her eyes flashing shock. He didn’t hesitate. “Jump, Di! Then run and don’t stop!” A gasp caught in her throat as she turned, hit the deep pool of water below. He pivoted, crouched, as another bullet sang past his head, and fired back. The thunk of the shot striking home didn’t relieve him for a second.
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He scrambled sideways, his back against a thick tree trunk. He could hear Diamond clambering up the opposite bank. Thank God. Di was past the creek. Home free was just a few hundreds yards away—the PAX chopper would be landing any minute. His heart banged steadily in his chest. Where was the other one? Then he knew, God he knew, what a big mistake he’d made when he heard her scream. Di felt iron hands gripping her shoulders, whipping her back against a hard chest. The cry strangled in her throat as the man’s hand slammed over her mouth, leaving her desperate for air. She saw black for a nauseating beat, then adrenaline charged past the shock and fear as she felt the chilling butt of a gun press into her temple. “Let her go,” Quinn’s voice rang out from across the creek. Spots swam in her vision and she blinked hard. Quinn emerged from the trees, stood on the rock where she’d leaped into the creek. Blood soaked one shoulder and his dark eyes burned from his now too-pale face. “Where’s the girl?” the man holding her demanded in return. Holding her hostage with one powerful arm, he held the gun to her head with the other hand. She was soaking wet, but too much blood pounded through her veins for her to be cold. She felt almost disembodied. This day couldn’t be real…. Where had this man come from? Somehow he’d circled around, crossed the creek before them— “You’ll never get the girl,” Quinn shouted. “Give it up. Your friends are dead, all of them. No one’s here to back you up. It’s just you and me now.” He stood on the edge of the rock, his weapon trained on the man’s head. “But it’s not just you and me for long. My team is on the way. They’ll be here any minute. You can live or die—your choice. Surrender, and I’ll let you live.”
Chapter 25: “Right.” The man gave a bark of laughter. “I see your backup.” “Don’t be a fool,” Quinn said, his voice low, deadly. “You can’t win here. She’ll never take you to the girl. And if you shoot her, you’re dead.” The man’s hold on her tightened and Di’s pulse boomed in her ears. This standoff couldn’t end well and she was right in the middle of it. “Have you told her what you want to do with her little girl?” the man grated. “I want to save her little girl from you and from Chaba,” Quinn said, his fierce gaze searing her across the eerie shadowed creek. “So you haven’t told her the truth!” His voice was suddenly hot against Di’s ear. “He’ll turn her into a secret government research project,” he hissed. “They’re snatching all the children from Valuatu Island and taking them to a government clinic. You’ll never see your little girl again.” Di’s blood froze, then her heart kicked. No, she didn’t believe him. She fought him, and the hand over her mouth slipped. “I don’t believe you!” she breathed harshly. “Your friends just tried to kill me!” He slammed her back against his chest, his arm banding her to him by her throat. Spots danced in her vision again.
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“Don’t listen to him, Di,” Quinn ground out. Through her wavering vision, she could see his burning eyes pinning her. “Did he tell you what she can do?” the man demanded hotly. No, no, he’d never really told her that, not exactly. Why did they want Ally? They wanted to save her, that’s all he’d said. And she believed him. Trust me, he’d told her. And she did. They’re snatching all the children from Valuatu Island and taking them to a government research clinic. You’ll never see your little girl again.
Chapter 26: She didn’t buy it. Quinn hadn’t lied to her, not this whole time. Her head reeled as she fought for consciousness as the man’s arm nearly cut off her windpipe. “She could go to the sun!” the man spat in her ear. “She could man a mission to the sun! She could walk through fire like another flame. Do you think the U.S. government will ever let her go?” No, no, no. That couldn’t be true. She knew after what Quinn had already told her that Ally had some kind of special power, and maybe it was withstanding heat. But she didn’t believe the rest of it. After all that he’d done to protect them, Quinn wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t be part of anything that meant she’d never see Ally again. The certainty that settled in her heart on that score should have shocked her, but she just knew it was true, knew Quinn was honorable. She would trust Ally’s life to him, totally. “Let her go,” Quinn demanded again. “Where is that team of yours, hmm?” the man taunted. “He has no team,” he hissed in Di’s ears. “They’re probably dead. Chaba’s already killed them. They’re not coming. Save yourself. Take me to the girl and I’ll let you live. I promise.” As if his promises meant anything. He would kill her, she had no doubt of that, and then Ally’s life would be in Chaba’s hands. But the sick thud in Di’s veins told her he could be telling the truth about something else. Chaba could have already killed Quinn’s team. There was no chopper. Nothing. Just the rush of the creek and the wind in the trees and the pounding horror of her heartbeat. And what if more of Chaba’s men were coming? They’d kill her and Quinn both. And then what they’d do to Ally—
Chapter 27: “I trust you,” she told Quinn, pinning him fiercely with her gaze. “I know you wanted to save us both.” With her eyes, she gave him permission, the permission to do what he had to do—take the shot, send this man to hell, no matter the risk to her own life. Every second this standoff went on put her daughter in more danger. “But it’s enough if you save Ally.” Quinn’s heart almost exploded out of his chest at the hopeless pain in Di’s eyes. Desperation like he’d never known before speared into him. No, it wasn’t enough to just save Ally. He had to save Di, too. He held his weapon steady, a bead trained right between the eyes of the man holding Di hostage. There had to be another way, a way that wouldn’t put Di’s life in so much danger. If he pulled this trigger, the man would pull his—and Quinn couldn’t live with the consequences of that. Then the sudden thunder of choppers overhead obliterated everything.
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The man holding Di twisted his head sharply upward where the break in tree cover above the creek revealed a glimpse of cloudless blue sky, then he pushed Di down and in horrific slow motion turned the gun on Quinn. “No!” Di’s scream broke through the roaring rotor blades of the passing chopper. Quinn jumped to the side, a bullet whizzing past his ear as he fired back. The man tumbled to the creek bank—hit—before he could shoot again or try to run. Di scrambled to her feet, face pale as moonlight, as the man rolled, thunked, into the creek. Water covered his body and he didn’t come back up.
Chapter 28: Quinn wasn’t waiting, wasn’t looking for an easier place to cross. No matter what, he wasn’t letting Di out of his sight again. Quinn shoved the gun in his jacket and leaped, splashed into the water, came up gasping for air to slam through the creek to the bank. Di reached for him, pulling him up and he didn’t think, didn’t even breathe, until he had his arms around her. She was as wet as he, shaking, holding on just like he was. Unexpected emotions ripped through him as he held her strong body, felt her heart beating as hard as his. He pulled back, just far enough to look straight into her eyes. “Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God, you’re alive.” He ran his hands down her shoulders, her arms, heedless of the fire of pain raging in his shoulder. He could hardly feel it, anymore. Could hardly feel anything but the rushing of his pulse and the shock of relief that she was alive and PAX was near. She gazed up at him—and all he could think was that she was so courageous. Tears spilled down her cheeks, burning hot against his fingers where he still touched her. “I’m sorry,” she said thickly. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted more—” “You trusted too much,” he argued roughly. “God, Di, you were ready to trust your daughter to me, completely.” The enormity of her faith punched him in the gut. “I swear to you, that man was lying. It’s true that Ally can’t be hurt by fire. The mutation in her case has made her impervious to even the most extreme heat. But Ally will never be taken away from you. I swear it!” he repeated fiercely. “Never!” “I know. After all that’s happened, I know I can trust you with anything.” Her voice caught on a sob. “It was PAX I didn’t trust, didn’t believe they’d come. But I should have known that if you said they were coming, they’d be here. I just knew you’d save Ally. You didn’t need me—”
Chapter 29: “No,” he broke in, hearing the break in his own voice, his heart jumping into his throat. He held her eyes. “I would never have let you die.” “I know,” she choked out. “I know, that’s what I was afraid of. I was afraid you’d die for me.” And all he could do was hold her to him even more tightly because now neither of them had to die. The blackness of only moments before was now light and bright and so full of unexpected promise, he could scarcely take it in, didn’t know yet what it all meant. He was just glad to have Di in his arms, safe. He could have held her for a long time, but he had to let her go for now. As relieved as she was, her relief was incomplete. “Let’s go get Ally,” he said.
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Together they raced through the woods. Di felt as if her heart would pound out of her chest. The cabin clearing, PawPaw’s tree, the timber field beyond burst into her vision as they broke out of the woods. She could see the chopper landing, men dropping out of it. Oh, God, what if Ally wasn’t in the tree house? Sick fear clawed up her throat as she screamed Ally’s name, her voice torn away by the still roaring chopper blades. She could hear every pound of her pulse as she climbed on numb feet up the steps made of planks nailed to the tree trunk and burst over the top to see— Ally crouched, eyes like humongous saucers, in the shadowed corner of the tree house. “Mommy!” she sobbed, and flung herself so hard at Di that she might have fallen out backward with Ally in her arms except Quinn was there, just behind her, to catch her. To save her, to save Ally, the way he’d been all along.
Chapter 30: Together, they scrambled down, Ally with her the whole way. When she reached the bottom, looked up from Ally’s clinging, sobbing arms to see him standing back as if he didn’t know if he belonged, she held on to Ally with one arm and held out the other. “This is the man who saved us from the bad guys,” she whispered thickly to Ally. “This is Quinn. He’s our hero.” The little girl gazed up at him with shocked, tear-soaked eyes. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Di’s heart all but burst when Ally said, “Thank you,” and held out her little arm to him, too. Quinn’s eyes shone clear and full of emotion, and he stepped toward them, wrapped them both in his arms. “Am I hurting you?” Di asked, guilt slicing her. She knew he had to be in pain, but he’d kept right on going as if there wasn’t a bullet in his shoulder. She could see fatigue on his face, but he would be all right. He was alive. They were all alive. He shook his head. “I’m better than I’ve ever been in my life.” He jerked his head toward the chopper and the men racing toward them. “They’re waiting.” A lump filled her throat. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” “I wouldn’t go anywhere else,” he promised. Her heart popped. She could feel his body, powerful and protective and oh so sexy, next to hers. And this wasn’t the end for them, she just knew it, knew it with the same certainty that she’d known she could trust him with Ally’s life. She wanted to know this man…beyond the adrenaline-filled action that this morning had taken them through. A foolish grin took hold of her lips. And then he grinned back at her, his just as foolish, and amazingly hot.
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“I want to see you again, Diamond Chavez,” he said lightly even as new emotion burned in his dark, fierce gaze. He reached up to stroke a strand of hair from her face. “Just warning you.” Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes and her breath caught, just from the way he was looking at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
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The Boys' Club by Amanda McIntyre London, 1850 Lucille Smith’s passions have ruined her life—divorced, disowned from her family and now fired from her job because of them. But when the mysterious and darkly compelling Lord Grant Thurgood recognizes that fire within Lucille, he offers her a job, and she thinks she’s finally gotten lucky. Only the job has certain…stipulations. In exchange for luxury and a very handsome wage, Lucille would act as mistress to Lord Thurgood’s Boys’ Club and fulfill the members’ every desire. All members but one—Lord Thurgood himself. The man who, with one touch, has burned himself onto Lucille’s body, into her every thought and fantasy, and lit a fuse within her that will ultimately explode.
Chapter One I have no job, no home. I stared at the paper that verified my future—or lack of one. You are hereby given notice that as of tomorrow morning, June 17, 1850, Lucille Bonnie Smith is terminated from room and board at 321 New Hampton Court. Reason for termination: rent severely past due. 321 Hampton Court was, of course, Miss Boden’s lodging for single women. She ruled her house with an iron fist, generally clenched tight with a large portion of my work pay. If I had work pay. I was seeking to become independent and I was having some success in that—until today, when my supervisor called me into his office and accused me of creating a disturbance among the male workers. As absurd as I knew it was, my experience with men had shown me that they like a bargain, especially when the gain is heavily weighted to their favor. “Miss Smith.” My superior motioned me to close the door. “How long have you been with us now?” I did as instructed, then stood in front of his desk, hands folded submissively in front of me. “A month, sir,” I answered with propriety, though my instinct warned me that his intent was less than proper. He was a staunchly perfect man by appearance; his attire, desk and clothing were all neat and tidy. But now he shuffled the papers on his desk, nervously averting his eyes from mine. His hand disappeared below the desk, and though the desk obscured my view, I could see by the faint blush in his fat cheeks just what his musing was. “Miss Smith, here at Livingston and Company we believe in the spirit of teamwork. Do you understand my meaning?” I shifted my gaze to the wall above his head. Oddly there were no photographs of his family. “I’m not at all sure that I do, Mr. Livingston; perhaps you should explain?” “Here is my dilemma, Miss Smith. Something that I feel if we put our heads together—discreetly, of course— we could perhaps find a solution.” ”Go on, Mr. Livingston.” “If you are successful in resolving this issue then it might mean a substantial raise in your pay, Miss Smith.”
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“Then I am definitely interested, sir.” I knew what he was getting at; men generally have few other things that weigh so heavily on their minds. But I am not a timid virgin, and the offer was tempting. “How much, Mr. Livingston, if I may inquire?” I stepped closer to the desk, so I could but barely peer over the edge into his lap. His cock, somewhat limp, lay listless in his hand. “I can see your problem.” I mused. “Fifteen shillings more, Miss Smith. For a monthly private visit to my office. I swear it will be of the utmost discretion.” Certainly, the steady income would aid in attaining my goal of independence much more quickly…. “What exactly is your problem, Mr. Livingston?” “It…won’t stay firm.” “It?” I queried, holding back my smile. Such odd creatures, men—one minute bold, the next shy as a virgin. He leaned forward and whispered, “My manhood, Miss Smith.” He glanced at me then, his expression grim. “And pray, sir, how do you feel that I may be of value in resolving this issue, more so than say…your wife?” His eyes grew narrow and he offered a wicked smile. “Because, Miss Smith, since your arrival, every time I see you, I grow instantly hard.” He looked at his lap. “See there, how you affect me? My wife, poor woman, does not have the same effect.” I didn’t want to tell him just yet that the issue might not be her at all. “Miss Smith, I think you have a gift, for I have heard other men in the factory speak of the same occurrence. Whatever mysterious effect you seem to have, I thought perhaps you could help relieve my ache, Miss Smith.” “Your ache?” I said, sighing, quite unsure how best to deal with his request. He was not a repulsive man, and in my short, but disastrous marriage, I had been privy to a man’s cock. “And were I not to accept your offer, Mr. Livingston, what then?” “Times are difficult, Miss Smith, especially for a woman in your unfortunate standing, estranged from your husband.” In short, he knew he had me in a difficult position. He turned his chair to the side, fully exposing himself to me. “A good job is hard to find, Miss Smith.” I should have walked out then. Instead, I stuck out my hand. “Payment up front, Mr. Livingston…cash. Times being what they are, you understand.” He hesitated for a breath, then dug into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. He stuffed them into my palm and eased back into his chair, his eyes glassy with anticipation. “You’re clean?” I asked, kneeling before him. “Certainly, Miss Smith. And you as well?” He clamped his hands over the chair arms. “Indeed, Mr. Livingston. Now if you’ll relax, let’s see how this works for us both. You may have…issues that I am unable to help you with.”
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I patted a strand of hair escaping my upswept tresses and leaned forward, lifting his semi-hard cock in my palm. Easing my hand down its length, I leaned forward and took him gently between my lips. “My heavens, Miss Smith, that is delightful,” he sighed, slouching in his chair. I attempted to blot out his disruptive sighs as I teased his velvet tip. Perhaps it was a gift, though my former husband had not appreciated it nearly as much as Mr. Livingston was. His hands fell into my hair, mussing my precisely wound coif. “Yes, right…ah, yes…there Miss Smith. It’s a wonder…you’ve exceptional talent, Miss Smith, oh ye-s-s-s,” he hissed as he pushed his cock further into my mouth. I heard the door open. “Mr. Livingston, your wife is here on a matter she insists is most urgent— Oh, my, sir, I…” I could not see at first from my vantage point who had interrupted us, but I guessed by her gasp it was Livingston’s assistant, and further guessed the view of me on my knees pleasuring my boss had indeed come as quite a shock. I glanced up as another woman brushed past the mesmerized assistant. “Bryce?” A stately looking woman appeared at her side. Shock registered on both of their faces. “Who is that woman and why has she got her mouth on your…your…private parts?” she gasped, her gaze darting from him to me and back, waiting for an answer. Her face clouded with fury. I eased back and waited for my superior to confess his dirty deed. However, in a moment I’m sure was divinely inspired, he leapt to his feet, closing his pants as he pushed me aside. “My pet, she came in begging me for money and mesmerized me with her charm. She was devious in her manner and before I knew it, well…she took advantage of my weak state, my love.” He grasped his wife’s shoulders, pleading for her to see his lying sack of filth as truth. He needn’t have gone to so much bother; I judged from her dress and manner that she was not about to give up her comforts quite so soon. She glanced at me, weighing the options in her mind. “Let her go,” she insisted, folding her arms in defiance. “But sweet-ems,” he stammered, not quite ready apparently to give up his new-found toy. “Now,” she stated flatly. “Of course, you’re absolutely correct. Miss Smith, gather your belongings. I want you gone within the halfhour. This company will not have its employees cavorting in such a way.” “Yes, sir, I agree.” I waltzed past the strange couple with my head held high. “Oh, you might want this back since we weren’t quite finished.” I dropped the coins in his hand and walked out, smiling as I glanced at the shocked assistant who stood watching the entire story unfold. “Bryce, what is this?” I heard “sweet-ems” scream as I walked down the hall. But my head wasn’t quite so high when I returned home and found the eviction note under my door. In all likelihood, news of the incident at work would travel quickly to other employers, and there would be little hope now of finding a respectable job, if one could call it such. What more could I do than gather my few belongings and take a walk in the park?
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If there is anything that my dear mother instilled in me, it was the need for a woman to be independent. Not by example, of course, as my father held her tight beneath his thumb. No, it was by observation that I developed into the practical woman I am—that and the lessons I learned from my arranged marriage. Based on a business merger, I married the son of one of my father’s clients. My father was elated; it brought a lucrative standing to his business. But it was evident from the first that my new husband felt he’d married beneath his worth. That much I could deal with, but nothing prepared me for the extent to which he could be so inhuman and cruel. Once he succeeded in taking my virginity, he had no other use for me—except when meeting with my father, then all was bloody right with the world. Not that it would have mattered to my father what my husband did to me in private; it was a woman’s duty to comply. Not long into our marriage, I discovered his mistresses—or mistresses, I should say—both of which he kept exceedingly well. I decided that what was good for him should be no less good for me, and so began to turn to the comfort of strangers, finding a world of pleasure inside of me that seemed to bring pleasure to others. I discovered the gardener was as passionate in tending my flower as he was with the gardens outside. Once, I met a traveling American at an outdoor pavilion and found happily that our interests went far beyond the realm of great art, inspired perhaps by finding a discreet room cut off from the public where we embellished in our own form of international relations. I paid little heed to my dear husband—other than what was socially required—but when he came home from a trip and found me in bed with his handsome and very talented cousin, he quite unexpectedly found his morality and sent me from his home without a thought. My father was devastated, of course, as it cost him shares in the company holdings, and he forbade my return home. And so with what little I had, I found my way to Miss Bodin’s rooming house. I had accepted my fate, seeing it as a fresh start. I was pretty, in good health and discovered that I was made of stronger courage than I knew. I would survive this, too. I enjoyed the brilliant blue sky of the morning, choosing not to think about my state. Then I spotted an old man sleeping on the park bench and imagined myself beside him later tonight. My stomach churned from hunger and concern. “Excuse me, miss? Are you about to take this seat?” A low, soothing voice melted over my shoulder. I looked behind me, and there stood a man with eyes the color of a stormy sea. He was taller than I by some measure, and dressed impeccably, his aristocratic appearance groomed and polished down to the precise moustache over his tempting mouth. “No, sir.” I stepped aside to allow him passage, quite unsure what to do next with myself. “Are you employed nearby?” he asked, taking a seat by the old man, who stirred briefly and dozed back off. “Sir?” I glanced at him, surprised he would strike up a conversation with an unaccompanied woman. I eyed the older gentleman. Perhaps I could stretch protocol a bit. “I used to be.” I turned to walk away. “Are you looking for employment, then?” he called. I stumbled, and at once he was at my side, holding my arm. I hadn’t had any breakfast—for that matter I hadn’t eaten in two days—and I was quite sure my pallor must have been ashen. I sheepishly looked around to see if anyone watched us. Still, there was something in the sincerity of the stranger’s concerned gaze that prompted my response. “Are you making me an offer, Mr….?”
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His moustache tipped upward as the corner of his mouth quirked into a small smile. He carefully released my arm. “Let me give you my card. As it happens, I am conducting interviews later this afternoon. If you are interested, I am looking for a housekeeper of…exceptional skills.” I held back a smile. “Indeed.” His dark brow rose as his eyes narrowed to my veiled challenge. “You have a bit of fire beyond the color of your hair, Miss…?” “I didn’t catch your name, sir?” I replied. He bowed deep and tucked his card in my palm. “Lord Grant Thurgood. My address is on the card. I can arrange for a carriage to pick you up at your residence, if it is more suitable.” “I haven’t said that I was interested.” “My mistake.” He said, smiling. He bowed and tipped his hat before walking away. “Interviews begin at three sharp,” he called over his shoulder. I stared after the austere man and could not help but be intrigued, not to mention desperate, to take him up on his offer.
*** I gratefully accepted the tea and scones he set on the table, listening as best I could as I reveled in the exquisite taste of the first food I’d eaten in days. “You’ll receive seventy-five shillings annually,” Lord Thurgood stated in a business-like tone, “and an additional fifty shillings if I find after six months that your work is exemplary.” He leaned back in his luxurious, tufted red-leather chair. His grand, dark-wood desk, larger than anything I’d ever seen, was polished to a high sheen. He noted my fascination to the piece. “I had the wood for this imported from Africa. It’s very rare, but endures well and is exquisitely beautiful, don’t you agree?” He smoothed his palm over the desktop with a look of pleasure etched on his face. “I do love beautiful things, Miss Smith.” His stormy gray eyes met mine. “That’s why I chose you.”
Chapter Two I swallowed a bit of scone. “Chose me?” I wondered how many other applicants he’d approached in this same manner. “Lord Thurgood, I am flattered, but seventy-five shillings is most extravagant. I assume this would include some care for children as well? I do have some tutoring skills.” His brow rose with interest. “And what else might you be proficient at, Miss Smith?” “I am an avid reader, play piano, and can sing…a little. Though I’ve not yet had much experience, I would be able to teach on an elementary level if necessary.” He smiled, continuing to rub his palm gently over the wood. I noted his hands—a weakness of mine with men, I must admit. Well-manicured with long fingers, capable, firm. Suddenly I needed a sip of tea. “I have no family or children—that I am aware of,” he added, with a slight lift to his mouth. “I travel quite frequently on business and pleasure. I like adventure, Miss Smith. When I am home, apart from the social events I choose to attend, I also host a special group of like-minded gentlemen…a sort of boys’ club, if you
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will. We meet once a month for social and business discussion. As host, I am responsible for the monthly entertainment.” I chose wisely to ignore his remark about children. “Boys’ club?” I queried, my curiosity piqued. “Close friends whom I have met through business, primarily. One or two that I’ve known longer.” “I see,” I remarked pleasantly, beginning to get a glimpse of something more in his offer. Was he hiring a mistress then, or a companion? Regardless, I was a practical woman and I needed the steady employment. Moreover, in truth, Lord Thurgood fascinated me on many different levels. “I don’t see that being a problem, Lord Thurgood. I am quite capable of serving large groups.” For the position, I could certainly learn fast enough, at any rate. “Indeed.” His gray-green eyes glinted with interest. “I have my cook, of course, but aside from housekeeping skills, I need someone with exceptional social skills.” Ah, then it was as a companion. “What type of skills, if I may ask?” I glanced over his shoulder at the ornate Oriental statute on the table behind him. I tipped my head ever-so-slightly and it appeared that the two men and the woman between them were engaged in some sort of sexual contortion. My gaze snapped back to Lord Thurgood. “I’m sorry what did you say?” “I need a woman with confidence. One who is comfortable in being a woman, able to speak her mind, knowledgeable of politics and current events. Do you consider yourself knowledgeable, Miss Smith?” I stared at him, unable to speak—he had given me the freedom to speak my mind. How refreshing, if not a little curious, that a man of his caliber would make such a request. “I do consider that my background and experience make me knowledgeable on many levels, Mr. Thurgood,” I countered, waiting for him to offer a quick, condescending comment in return. Yet his grin only widened. “Splendid.” He slapped the desktop softly. “Now, if you decide to accept the position—“ “What about your other interviews?” I interrupted. “With all due respect, Miss Smith, I honestly don’t believe I could find a more suitable candidate.” I was charmed, though a wicked part of me had almost hoped he had wanted me as his mistress. I wouldn’t have minded curling into his embrace on a whim. He was knowledgeable, a traveler, a lover of art and education, and enjoyed romance—or so it seemed. “May I be bold on a point, Mr. Thurgood?” “I wish you would be, Miss Smith. I adore boldness, especially in a woman.” His boyish grin was so natural that I smiled in return. He stood and removed his coat. “You don’t mind, do you? I find it rather warm in here.” “I…” I cleared my throat, watching below hooded lids as he removed his coat. He was impressive, with a wide breadth of shoulder and a narrow waist. His taste in clothing was very stylish, yet did not conform. I found that, too, a refreshing aspect about him. He slipped the jacket over the back of his chair and faced me, fisting his hands at his back, further stretching taut his pristine white shirt. At the angle at which he stood, I could not help but note the slight tent to his smooth trousers. I sensed a weakness at my knees and was grateful I was seated. I took another sip of tea to quench my sudden thirst. “Now, what was it you were saying?”
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His soft, rumbling baritone coaxed tingles down my spine. A drop of perspiration trickled down the small of back, sneaking into my undergarments. I scanned the room, noting that every statue in the room or piece of art on the walls featured depictions of people engaged in various forms of…intimacy. “Lord Thurgood, I should like to point out that I sense a tension, almost carnal in this room.” Would he deny it as so many men would? Or would he be open about his affinity for the human body and all its wonder and mystery? “Do you like my collection?” He followed my gaze to a painting on the wall, then returned to retrieve a response from me. His eyes were mesmerizing, like a tempest storm. At every turn—his manner, his clothes, even his scent—defined his impetuous, aristocratic eccentricity. “I find the human form a most intriguing subject, don’t you?” “They are…very interesting.” I shifted, aware of a decided tingling in my breasts. I glanced down, hoping my reaction was not evident. “You say you’re not married, Mr. Thurgood?” “No, nor am I looking to be, but I do find your interest flattering, Miss Smith.” “No! That’s not my meaning, sir….” I felt my cheeks grow warm. He chuckled quietly. “Come now, let me show you the rest of the house, perhaps it will intrigue you enough to stay on.” He held out his hand, ushering me through the study door and into the foyer. “Is it proper, milord, for me to accompany you beyond the main floor?” I walked past him, careful not to get too close, and caught a tantalizing whiff of his spicy cologne. It called to me of exotic places, wild and free, very masculine and a bit dangerous. I had to admit between my need for a job and Lord Thurgood’s charm, my brain was addled. “Perhaps. Does that frighten you, Miss Smith? More importantly, do I frighten you?” I stared at him for a moment, taking in the confident expression. Yet I was not ill at ease. For a brief moment I fantasized that we were retiring for the evening. He’d, of course, check the door, locking out the rest of the world as I waited with anticipation upstairs, unwinding and brushing my hair to accommodate his fingers later when we were alone. A gentle evening breeze would make the curtains dance as he slowly undressed me, stretching my desire thin. His lips would seduce me along the curve of my neck with whispered words of his wicked intent until all that stood between us was his clothing. “Miss Smith?” His deep voice jarred me from my most wicked thoughts. But no more wicked than his devious smile. “Shall we?”
Chapter Three My hand trembled as I walked ahead of him. I clung to the smooth, cool banister rail, realizing that the carpet padded the sound of our footsteps. The scent of lemon oil and fresh flowers wafted through the air, giving notice that the upstairs windows were open to allow for the breeze. I sensed Lord Thurgood behind me at a respectable distance, yet well within reach if he chose. On the first landing, I paused to admire an opulent colored glass window. “How lovely. Was it here when you purchased the property?” My heart raced as he came to stand beside me. He did not apologize when he brushed against my thigh.
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“I commissioned it from a radical artist friend of mine. It’s a depiction of Eve offering the apple to Adam.” He turned to me, the heat of his body evident so close to mine. “Do you like it?” I pulled my gaze from his. “I always—“ I glanced up at him briefly. “Go on, Miss Smith.” he prodded. “Well, I always wondered why people blamed Eve for succumbing to temptation.” Strangely, I did not have any discomfort in speaking my thoughts with him, as I might with another man. “Ah,” he spoke with a nod. “It’s a shame. Adam, of course could have refused. But then again…” He stepped ahead of me on the stairs and turned with a roguish grin, wiggling his dark brows. “If he had, where would we be?” He forged ahead without concern for propriety and I must admit I felt a great liberation in his company. He spoke to me as if I was more than a housemaid. The value he placed on my thoughts and opinions— unheard of for a woman, and particularly one of my station—was indeed a wonder. “There are seven bedrooms and three lavatories on this level.” He pointed to the right. “At the far end is the master chamber, on the right.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “Down here on the left overlooking the gardens is your—excuse me, would be your chambers.” “You have me housed on the same floor as the master bedroom?” “Unorthodox, I realize, but you will find little in this house that conforms to the whims of society, Miss Smith.” He said, grinning. I sensed no malice or threat in his manner, just a simple frankness that I liked, and so let the subject drop. As I walked down the corridor, my thoughts were overcome by the splendor of the richly decorated hallway. The walls, papered in deep-wine colored brocade gave it a regal look. Polished oil lamps provided light intermittently along either side of the narrow hallway. At either end were two tall windows that reached from floor to ceiling, brilliant in a profusion of colored glass. Two narrow book tables flanked opposite sides of the hallway, each holding a bowl of apples and a short stack of leather bound books. “Your home is exquisite, Lord Thurgood. Clearly you appreciate the art of educating oneself.” “I count curiosity as one of my passions, Miss Smith. I have many books; my library downstairs has hundreds. You are most welcome to peruse them at any time.” “Thank you, sir, reading is one of my favorite pastimes…when time permits,” I added as an afterthought. He picked up a book from the nearby table. “This is one that you may find interesting, then. It’s splendid, really. A poem by Vatsyayana. In particular, the illustrations of the Kama Sutra are exquisitely detailed.” I nodded, offering him a brief smile. Clearly, he was a man well-versed in the ways of the world. I could do worse than be under his influence. We continued down the hall. “Here we are. As you can see, you have a bed, dressing table, the bath has running water and is yours alone—and a most amazing claw-foot tub. In the wardrobe,” he said, swinging open the doors, “are your uniforms, as well as a variety of gowns and other attire essential to your duties.”
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The room was a feast for the eyes. Never in all my days had I seen anything so magnificent. The bed was twice what I needed, the duvet and pillows fluffed and white. It was more like royalty than a maid’s chambers. White curtains danced in the afternoon breeze, and at one end was a set of French doors overlooking a beautiful flower garden. “It’s like a dream, Lord Thurgood. Fit for a princess.” I ran my hand over the fat hardwood bedpost as I ogled the inviting bed. “I am not at all certain of this, Lord Thurgood. It is more than a housemaid deserves. Perhaps this is a mistake— “ A dizzying sense of guilt assaulted me—perhaps it was the talk of Eve being tempted. I felt the need to flee and hurried to the door, running straight into his chest. He cradled me in his arms, preventing me from either coming or going, though I confess I wanted to remain there forever. “It suits you perfectly,“ he soothed quietly as he rubbed his hands over my upper arms. “But I am just a housemaid, sir.” He lifted my chin with a gentle nudge of his finger. “When I saw you in the park, the way you held your head, the gentle sway in your walk, I said to myself: that is no ordinary woman.” “You did?” I held his gaze, unaware until it slid from my shoulders that he’d unbuttoned my caplet. “I said, there is someone special. A woman refined, educated…knowledgeable.” “I am a quick study,” I replied, captured by his sensual smile. He grinned as he lifted the comb from my hair and my tresses tumbled over my shoulders. A rush, new to my senses, swept over me, different from with other men I’d known. Was the role of mistress what he wanted from me after all? “What would you have me do next, Miss Smith? Your wish is my command.” I’d never been given so much authority by a man…by anyone. The freedom was heady. Yet as I worried my lip, I knew what he wanted. What I wanted. “I— I…think—” I stammered as his hand slid over my waist and up my rib, resting just beneath the curve of my breast. His movements were so controlled, patient, as if awaiting my instruction. “Yes, Miss Smith?” The air escaped my lungs as his face drew near. Filled with such desire, his eyes held me captive. I could not move—indeed I had no wish to. “I think, milord, that I have never kissed a man with a moustache,” I whispered, holding his lust-filled gaze. His hands on me made me feel brazen and the freedom aroused me, causing me to think exquisite, naughty thoughts. “Are you a naughty girl, Miss Smith?” he said, reading my thoughts as his mouth trailed down the slope of my neck, his hot breath searing my tender flesh. I could not speak, I was lost in a euphoric trance.
Chapter Four “I hope you enjoy this as much as I will.” He captured my mouth, his tongue darting out to trace my lip. I was a slave to the slow, methodical movement of his hands on me, offering me exquisite pleasure. “I feel decadent,” I sighed as his thumbs brushed across my covered breasts. “Under my roof, you shall never want for anything. You need only ask and it is yours.”
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His ardent kisses grew hungry, his hands pushed through my hair, holding me to him as he ravished me with his heated kisses. He parted my blouse and with a satisfied gleam in his eye, he knelt, taking one rosy tip through my undergarments in his mouth before paying equal attention to the other. Backed against the wall, I held my palms flat to the yellow-rose wallpaper, pressing my chest forward to encourage his ministrations. In a lust-filled fog, I opened my eyes and watched the curtains swirl as if in a fantasy. I felt deliciously faint and wanted nothing more than to lie with him on the luxurious bed. “May I lay down, milord?” I whispered, hoarse. “Allow me.” He bowed and scooped me at once into his arms and laid me down amid the bay of pillows. Half-dressed, I smiled up at my new employer. The lust in his eyes dissipated, and so did my smile. “What troubles you, milord?” I queried, wanting to resume the passion of a moment before. “Your taste is sweet, Miss Smith, and so beguiling that I lost my head. I’m certain you have many more questions. Rest now, and when you awaken perhaps you’ll have a nice soak in the tub. Dinner is promptly at six. My guest is Lord Richfield this evening; he is a friend and founding member of the club I told you about.” I lifted my blouse to cover my semi-naked form, quite unsure what to make of his sudden change of heart. “Yes, milord.” I didn’t wish to press him for the answers to the myriad of questions swirling in my head, at least not until I was secure with the job. He put his hand on the doorknob. “Milord?” I spoke up, finally finding my courage. “For what it may be worth, I was not offended by your attention just now.” His gaze held fast to his boots, but I noted the tick in his firm jaw. “I appreciate that Miss Smith, nonetheless there are some rules that even I must abide by.” He closed the door behind him quietly, leaving me more determined than before to learn more about him.
*** Refreshed from a short nap, I savored the luxurious bath, filled with lavender-scented bath salts. Closing my eyes, I propped my head back on the curled edge of the tub and let my mind drift to earlier in the afternoon. Had I gone mad? Was I so desperate for food and a roof that I might consider being a companion to a strange man for as long as he needed me? Or was it worse that I actually wished that he wanted me as his mistress? I could not say which held the greatest danger—perhaps both. But I knew that the decision, once made, would be mine, and mine alone. Still, I could not deny the longing that had assaulted my body as he touched me. And what I would do for another glimpse of such divinity…. My hand slid over my flesh, dipping low at the juncture of my thighs. My hand transported me to the memory of milord’s attention to my breasts, and I found the joy of my longing. Sweet fire smoldered deep inside me, rising toward the heavens in erotic splendor. I bit the side of my hand to quiet my cry of pleasure as my body gave up to the shattering bliss of my handiwork. I sighed, despondent that it was not Lord Thurgood himself bringing me to this ethereal pinnacle. Still, if I was careful and gained his trust, perhaps there was hope he would consider the value of a more permanent arrangement between us? To that end, I was willing to endure most any whim he set before me as a test of my loyalty. Did that indeed make me a naughty girl, or one who saw the opportunities before her?
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*** I chose a blue column gown as dress for dinner, and as I descended the stair, the smells coming from below tantalized my senses. At that moment, Lord Thurgood emerged from his study and paused, blatantly staring at me until I averted my gaze. “Pardon me, Miss Smith, I do not wish to seem rude. It’s simply that in that gown you are transformed into a rare beauty.” He held out his arm, and I again felt odd that I was being treated more like a guest than a potential house servant. But I would play his game, hopeful that in the end we would both get what it was that we wanted. “Miss Smith,” Lord Thurgood stated as we entered the dining room, “I would like you to meet my colleague, Lord Brandon Richfield. He happens to be in London on business. We share many years, and have a great deal in common in business dealings.” The handsome stranger took my hand, bowing to me as though I was Thurgood’s wife. Perhaps it was the dress, but I confess I was not certain that Lord Richfield was aware of my true position. “Welcome to Thurgood House, madam. It is a pleasure.” He glanced at my new employer, though I’d yet to actually tell him I’d accepted the position—and certainly not that I had an ulterior motive for taking the job. “We now have one more interest in common, Grant.” Lord Richfield gushed. “She’s perfectly delightful. Her skin is exquisite, just like milk and honey as you said.” Richfield stared at me with a fixed grin. Behind him Lord Thurgood offered a slight smile. “You flatter me, Lord Richfield,” I replied with a short curtsy. “Delightful, Thurgood, simply delightful.” “Shall we sit down then?” Lord Thurgood held out my chair. As I sat, he whispered in my ear, “You are radiant, Miss Smith.” I did not feel at all myself in such expensive attire, and I was not certain that I would not wake up at any moment on the park bench and find this all a dream. The frock I wore was made of silk and satin, with a high bodice and low neckline that gave a tempting view of cleavage. It fit my form like a glove, accenting my curves with subtlety and grace. I listened quietly as the two chatted over each course served to us by an older woman I assumed was the cook. It occurred to me that perhaps I was to serve as Lord Thurgood’s companion as a show for business and social affairs. For what he offered and the quality of my keep, I would be all too happy to comply. However, I had more to learn of this “club” first. After dessert of tiramisu and coffee, the men stood to retire to Lord Thurgood’s library. “I’ll excuse myself then gentlemen,” I spoke as Lord Thurgood once more held my chair. “We can discuss the contract come morning, Miss Smith,” milord whispered. “There is no need, sir. I am ready to sign.” I glanced over my shoulder and smiled, pleased when he offered one in return.
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We parted company and I started for the hall to collect my belongings. The lamp in the foyer was dimmed low and so I was startled when Lord Richfield emerged silent from the shadows. “My apologies, Miss Smith. I wanted to say again how pleased I am that you are considering Lord Thurgood’s proposal.” “Actually, Lord Richfield, I have only just told Lord Thurgood that I plan to sign at first light.” His body, so close to mine in the narrow hall, shifted, and I felt his thigh brush against mine. “That is splendid news, Miss Smith. I hope in the days to come we shall become better acquainted.” “My dear Brandon, why don’t we let Miss Smith get her beauty rest?” Lord Thurgood emerged from the dining room and offered a pleasant smile as he ushered his guest to the library. Lord Richfield bowed to me and excused himself to enter the room and my new employer held my gaze as he walked toward me. “Not that you need beauty sleep, quite frankly, Miss Smith. Shall I arrange a carriage for you to return to your previous lodge to gather the rest of your belongings?” I had no other belongings, of course, and no place to lie my head, save perhaps a park bench or alleyway. I worried my lip, avoiding his steady gaze as I thought of a response. “Miss Smith, what is it?” “I am…between residences at present, milord. All that I own, I brought with me today.” It sounded horrid even to my ears, but his finger on my chin brought my eyes to meet his. There was a kindness in them, mixed with something more. “Then you shall stay here tonight and tomorrow begin your new life, Miss Smith. Welcome to my home.” He paused. “However, it appears that Lord Richfield is clearly enamored with you, so I kindly suggest it is wise to secure your chambers’ lock tonight. Brandon likes his cognac and I don’t want him taking leave of his senses.” He touched my cheek softly. “I confess I would have difficulty of the same crime myself if it were not for the stipulations of the contract you have agreed to sign.” “Stipulations?” I queried, brought back to reality by his words. “We can discuss them tomorrow, it’s late and I must see to my guest.” “Of course,” I agreed. It would not be proper for me to assume his time with company waiting in the study. With that, he bowed and took his leave. I melted against the wall, my stomach aflutter in his presence. The number of questions were growing in my head, along with a need welling inside that I knew would torment my dreams.
*** His hands, slow and thorough, moved over me, caressing, squeezing my breasts. Spooned against my back, I succumbed to the warmth of his naked flesh to mine. His rigid staff poked against my thigh in anticipation of my submission to his passionate advances. Was this a dream, or had milord returned in the dark of night to finish what we’d started? The scent of cognac tickled my nose and I stretched like a satisfied kitten, rubbing my bottom against his naked flesh.
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“Yes,” he whispered against my shoulder as he shifted my hip into his lap. I was more than ready for him, as my dreams had been filled with thoughts of the fire in his eyes as we delighted in one another's bodies. With a quiet groan, he parted my drenched rose, burrowing himself deep as he lifted my leg over his knee. The angle provided enormous pleasure and I followed his movement, slow and steady, enjoying each lunge, imagining that when next he took me, I would look into his eyes. I sighed, showing him my pleasure of his efforts. His hips moved faster, his thrusts more shallow, and I held myself against him, teetering on the edge, wanting to experience the shattering light with him. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my breast into his one hand, as his other dug into the flesh of my hip. I wanted this, as much as I wanted him. A woman’s desires are no less important than a man’s. And hadn’t the afternoon been filled with the foreplay of our true intent? The urgent tap-tap-tap of the headboard against the wall gave me pause, and I wondered if it might wake our guest and create an awkward scene. “Milord, we must not intrude on our guest's slumber, perhaps we should—“ Before I could finish my thought, he abruptly pulled away and I felt the mattress give as he left. A second later, the door opened and closed with a quiet click. It occurred to me that I had not latched the door as instructed. I turned to my back and stared up at the dark ceiling. The realization that it might have been Lord Richfield gave me pause, though I admit I was not entirely dissatisfied—perhaps I was more suited to this idea of being a naughty girl than I once thought. My thighs were yet sore from the contortion, but deliciously so. On the verge of my release, I sought relief from the tension built up inside me. Even though the size of my fingers were no match for the scope of my midnight lover, I was able to quench the fire he’d ignited. Satisfied and ready for whatever adventures lay before me, I closed my eyes and smiled as I drifted into effortless slumber.
Chapter Six I awoke to the delectable scent of coffee and something baking. Scones, I hoped, as I tossed aside the covers and padded naked to the bathroom where I made haste to wash. I found a simple dress, and wondered whether I should don my uniform. I chose to check over the contract once more before signing instead. With expedient care, I pinned my hair atop my head and gave myself a quick once-over in the boudoir mirror. I pinched my cheeks, bringing a subtle blush to my fair skin and bit my lip to add a bit of color. I hoped that if last night’s visitor had been Lord Thurgood, he would be pleased with how well I managed the evening and his sudden departure. If it had been Lord Richfield…well, I would have to deal with that possibility. “Miss Smith, you look well rested. I trust the bed is to your liking?” Lord Thurgood smiled up at me as I descended the stairs. “I had a most pleasant night, thank you, sir.” I detected no look of familiarity in his eyes. “Might I impose on you to read through the contract during breakfast?” I hoped that milord would approach his nightly visit over breakfast. “Of course. Our guest offers his apologies, but he had to leave early this morning on urgent business.”
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Given milord’s silence on the matter and Lord Richfield’s quick departure, it probably had been Richfield that had come to my bed during the night. Though I wasn’t disturbed by the thought, I chose to keep quiet on the matter, at least for now, due to the potential rift that might occur. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some papers to look over. I will leave you to finish your breakfast and read the contract. I will be in my study if you have any questions.” He wiped his mouth—the one I could not forget. I wondered then if he suspected his friend had come to my chambers. Regardless, Lord Richfield was gone now and the incident better left in the past. I read the contract as I ate, and discovered that my services beyond housekeeping were associated directly to being an escort to individual members of the boys’ club. There were several stipulations, including that activities must be restricted to the house of the hosting member, preferably to my chambers. But to what extent was I required to satisfy these requests? Another question pressed on me with greater concern, yet I needed answers to both before I would sign. I found Lord Thurgood in his study hovering over his paperwork with pen in hand, scrutinizing the forms in front of him. I tapped softly on the open door. His dark gaze darted to mine and I took a step back at the intensity on his face. It quickly softened as he saw me. “Miss Smith, my thoughts were deep in these contracts. Please, do come in.” He stood and directed me to the chair across from him. “Did you wish to discuss the terms of the contract?” He returned to his chair and tented his hands in front of him as he waited. “First, may I say that you are a breath of spring this morning. Your accommodations suit you then?” “Indeed, milord, they are most adequate.” I smiled, summoning my courage to ask the questions burning in my heart. “I have but a couple of questions, if you don’t mind?” I’d already made up my mind to accept the position regardless. I was not put off by the job requirements; they were all known to Lord Thurgood, after all, and I was not a woman embarrassed by her own pleasure and desires. But I did have concerns. “Ask me anything.” He sat back in his chair, more relaxed in his demeanor. His charm now fully addressed. “I understand that I am contracted to serve as companion to one member a month for your club and to comply with that member’s wishes for the evening. I would like clarification as to what extent I am contractually bound to comply with their requests?” He glanced at his boot, taking his time before he responded. “That, Miss Smith, I leave to your discretion. The club members come from varied backgrounds, some from different cultures. They are men with eclectic tastes to be sure. I cannot say what they may ask of you, though you will be expected to comply to the best of your ability to their wishes. Of course, we have provisions built-in to our club rules, an unspoken understanding if you will, with regard to your well-being and safekeeping.” “To put it plainly then, I am to be a communal mistress, of sorts?” His expression did not change. “You are to be a mistress to the club, exclusively, and to perform your duties with grace and style. You are a woman who understands passion, are you not?” “You of all people should know the answer to that, milord.” I responded, holding his sensual gaze. “And that leads me to my next question.” “Yes, Miss Smith?” “And how am I to serve you?” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, determined not to let him see my desire.
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His eyes darkened before he averted them from mine. He stood and swiped his hand over his mouth as he looked out the window. He remained there a moment, silent, as he stared out at the street beyond. “Contractually, during your tenure, you must serve me as a domestic servant only. This is a safeguard included as rules of the acting host.” “I see.” I paused a moment, mulling over which of us would cross over that line first. Clearly there was a tension between us that could not be denied. Whether that was lust or something more remained to be seen—and would most assuredly be put to the test. I had no fear in speaking plainly my thoughts, and if my instinct was correct, it would not be out of the realm of possibility that soon enough Lord Thurgood might reciprocate similar feelings. Still I wanted the seeds to burn in his brain, for what I was about to agree to would torment me as much as him—or so I hoped. “I am curious, milord, if my entertaining your friends will bring you satisfaction or torment?” It was an obvious challenge, and were he to accept it, I was prepared to resume what we’d begun the day before. But he merely glanced over his shoulder and remained silent—stubborn and a man of his word, both admirable qualities in a man. “Very well. Just so we are agreed on this point.” I stood and leaned over his desk, purposely catching his eye on my cleavage as I poised to sign. “With your permission, I’ll sign these and get out of this gown. My uniforms are in the wardrobe, correct?” I did not have to look up to know he was staring at me. I could feel the heat of his gaze.
Chapter Seven As the first Wednesday of the month approached, I spent much time in the company of the cook learning how our master preferred his house to run. He was fair and kind, but ruthlessly business-like, so much so that I began to think I had mistaken his attraction to me previously. The plan I’d had to remain aloof from him appeared fruitless in light of his frequent trips and business dealings in his closed study. But in the few times he was home, he was quite pleasant, offering his suggestion of a book I should read on bird watching, or pointing out a new flower that had blossomed in the garden outside of the study window. We had similar tastes in books and art, but just as I sensed we were making a connection, he would retreat to his work in the study. In particular, as the first Wednesday drew near, his agitation and impatience with Cook and me grew to a noticeable level. Late one night as I finished the evening dishes, I found him gathering his coat and hat to leave. I fought the urge to inquire where he might be going at such a late hour, but reminded myself of my place. I was neither his wife nor his mistress, and since the day I’d signed the agreement, I’d served no more than Cook in my duties. The only difference between us was that he encouraged my reading and recognition of the world and politics. I stood in the dark shadows of the kitchen, observing the frustration with which he flung on his coat and grabbed his hat from the hall tree. As he opened the door, I took a step and he hesitated, not looking back, only speaking over his shoulder. “Lock up after me, Miss Smith; I shan’t be back until morning.”
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I wanted desperately to ask where he was off to at such an hour, but my pride—wounded by his disregard of me these past weeks—bid me to answer simply, ”Yes, milord.”
*** “Miss Smith, may I introduce Lord Crenshaw. He is one of our founding members.” I curtsied and took the arm Lord Crenshaw extended to mine. “It’s delightful to meet you, Lord Crenshaw. Lord Thurgood has spoken highly of you, and I must say I am impressed with your work on county railways.” I had found a handwritten note under my door this morning highlighting information regarding Lord Crenshaw. He owned half the rail companies in England. His ragged gray brows rose in surprise and he glanced back at Lord Thurgood as we made our way toward the stairs. I’d chosen a red velvet gown, one that hugged my curves but had a modest v-shaped neckline. I also wore white gloves that buttoned from wrist to elbow—the paper had also indicated Lord Crenshaw enjoyed elegance. “You are quite the handsome woman, Miss Smith,” he smiled as his eyes traveled to my cleavage. “You flatter me, milord.” I smiled in return as we headed up the steps. Whatever happened in the privacy of my chambers was to remain between the club member and myself. I wondered what possible request this aging gentleman had in mind for me. I led the way into my room and waited until he was well inside before I shut and locked the door behind us. “What is your pleasure this evening, milord?” I went about the room, turning the lamps low to create a more seductive mood. More for me than him. “I confess it has been some time since I was in the company of a beautiful woman.” He eyed the room, his gaze settling on me. “I am humbled by your kindness, milord. And I confess I am a bit nervous to be in the company of one so much more experienced than I am.” He chuckled. “Do you have any brandy, by chance?” I had taken the liberty of borrowing Lord Thurgood’s decanter from his library cabinet when I found out Lord Crenshaw liked his nightcap. I handed Lord Crenshaw a glass and he settled back into a tufted chair and sighed. “Do you know what I would like, Miss Smith?” His aging blue eyes twinkled. “I am here to serve you, milord.” I slowly unbuttoned one glove, offering hooded glances with a smile now and again. “It is as if you know my mind, young woman.” “Why not tell me, milord? So our pleasure is mutual?” He took another sip of his drink. “Very well, I would like it if you would remove your clothes, very slowly and carefully. I miss watching my wife undress, may she rest in peace.” He took another drink. My heart twisted for his loss. “It would be a pleasure, milord. But would you mind helping to unfasten the hooks of my gown?” I turned my back to him and felt his trembling hands manage the task as I removed my other glove. In a moment, my gown loosened and slid, pooling at my feet. I turned toward him. Beneath I wore only a corset and my pantaloons. He eased back in the chair and reached for his glass. His blue gaze alive with appreciation, he took a long swallow of his drink.
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“With your permission, I would like to draw you a bath,” he spoke with quiet reverence, his eyes fixed on my breasts about to tumble from their confines. “That sounds lovely, Lord Crenshaw. Will you be joining me?” I turned so he could begin to untie my corset. He chuckled. “No, my dear, it will be more than my heart can stand to watch you.” He glanced over his shoulder as he set to filling the tub. “I used to do this for my wife at night. She loved to lie in a bath and let the night breeze blow on her skin. She said it aroused her.” He looked up at me with a boyish grin and I could see what a dashing lad he had been. “I confess it did the same for me.” He was sweet, and I was more than happy to comply. I could only hope the rest of the members were as tame. He pulled his chair to where he could see me as I eased into the tub. “Like this, milord?” I held the sponge over my breasts, letting the water trickle over them. The night wind blowing through the open window did indeed ease my inhibitions. “You are lovely, my dear. Could you do that, with the water, once more?” Taken to him, I did as he bid, embellishing for him with sighs and touching my breasts to show my pleasure. “You are thinking of someone special as you touch yourself, aren’t you?” “I am milord.” I glanced at his smiling face. “Perhaps it is you.” He took a sip of his drink. “Flattery is kind, but I am a smart man. No, those sighs are real, as if you have experienced his touch and are remembering it.” “You are most astute, Lord Crenshaw. I hope you do not feel neglected.” “On the contrary, my dear. Please continue as if it is he sitting here watching you. My pleasure will be doubled, I assure you.” Heeding his words, I stepped from the tub, dried off, and slipped into my boudoir robe. Purposely leaving it undone as his wife might have, I sat down at my vanity and picked up the scented talc and soft, cotton powder-puff. Lord Crenshaw stood behind me, his eyes glistening as I administered the talc to various parts of my body. I held his gaze as I spread my knees and dusted from my knee to the inner juncture of my thighs. “You are exquisite, Miss Smith,” he whispered. “May I?” He reached for my hairbrush. I nodded. His hands lifted my hair, slowly drawing the brush through my tresses, each stroke languid and easy. He had a masterful ease conveying his patience and appreciation. I stared at my reflection: the way the robe slipped off one shoulder and Lord Crenshaw brushing through my hair from behind, both of us looked utterly content. What would the boys think of his choice? I had to admit my surprise that his genteel attentions had aroused me. “What is your pleasure now, milord?” He handed me the brush and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I would like you to lie down.” I complied, arranging myself, expecting to find him undressed. Instead, he drew an object I’d never seen before from his pocket. It looked to be a piece of art perhaps, smooth, like glass, oblong, yet appearing similar to a man’s cock.
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“I want to watch you use this and think of your lover.” He handed me the object and upon closer inspection, I found its size respectable, admirably so. “Is it safe?” I queried, eyeing it carefully. My fingers could do the task he wished me to perform just as well. “I think you will find it satisfactory, my dear. I’ll just sit over here and finish my drink.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, summoning the image of Lord Thurgood’s wicked smile as he hovered over me, his rod urgent and ready betwixt my legs. Yearning with need, I would offer him my dewy peach and he would gently accept my silent invitation, filling me thoroughly, removing himself only to repeat the delicious gesture over and over until I begged for release. My fist knotting the sheets, fever broke out over my flesh as I imagined his firm, muscled stomach brushing against my flesh. Deeper he’d press, his sighs meeting mine with each thrust. My body reached its crest, followed by a delicious roll of thunderous waves, and my eyes opened, expecting to see Lord Thurgood’s stormy gray eyes. But he wasn’t there. I stared at the ceiling, my hand grasping the object as my hips rolled with pleasurable aftershocks. Lord Crenshaw’s face appeared at my bedside, looking down at me with immense pleasure. “Thank you, my dear. Keep my gift as a token of my sincere appreciation.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. Soon after, I heard the door click behind him. That night I dreamt of Lord Thurgood.
Chapter Eight My performance for Lord Crenshaw served only to make my desire for my employer worse. I was aware of him before he entered a room, and his voice alone could cause my breasts to pucker with arousal. In complete contrast to my torture, he seemed completely at ease around me. “Good day, Miss Smith,” he said as he carried his morning paper and coffee into his study. “Please see to it I’m not disturbed this morning. I have a presentation to get out by week’s end.” I offered a shallow curtsy. I wanted him to ask what birds I’d seen, what flowers Cook and I had planted for fall. “Milord?” The word flew from my mouth before I realized it. “Yes?” he sipped his coffee and glanced at the headlines. Still, he refused to meet my eyes this morning. Why? “Cook and I planted mums today, they’ll be quite a spectacle by fall, don’t you think?” I pretended to be interested in dusting the statuettes on the table between us. If only he would look at me, if only I could see the fiery passion I had experienced the day I arrived, it would give me hope. “Hum, why yes, those would be lovely among the greenery.” He walked over to the window. “Fall already. Time has gone by fast, has it not , Miss Smith?” His gaze met mine finally, and though he stood halfway across the room from me, it was as if I was in his arms. “Yes, milord,” I was barely able to say above a whisper. The words confessing my longing for him teetered on the end of my tongue.
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He licked his lips and glanced back at the garden before making his retreat. “I’ll be in the study, please see that I’m not disturbed.” Lord Thurgood left on business a few days later. On the day he was due to return, Lord Richfield dropped by without announcement and cornered me in the garden. “You are like this rose, Miss Smith.” He oozed charm as he fingered the petals of a rose he’d picked. “Delicate and sweet, your anxious folds yearn to bloom under a master’s touch.” “Lord Richfield, milord would not, I suspect, be pleased with your speaking to me outside the club rules. If you’ve come to see Lord Thurgood, he is due home at any moment.” “I’m not here to see Thurgood, Miss Smith. I came to see you and tell you how I look forward to the next meeting. I have waited months to be with you.” I did not know what to make of him. He was kind, though much more aggressive than my master. Just then, Cook emerged from the backdoor, dumping a pail of dirty water into the hedge. She called out to me. “Miss Smith, I need you at once in the kitchen. Lord Richfield, the master is due in later today if you would like to return tomorrow.” “I could wait,” he called out to the cook, his ice-blue gaze steady on me. “I’m afraid that is not acceptable. Milord likes his private time after a long trip. But I’ll be sure to tell him you came by.” He bowed and gave me a wink. “No need, my good woman, I’m afraid that I must take leave on business tomorrow, but you can tell Lord Thurgood I shall see him at our club meeting.” He left, and when Lord Thurgood returned later that day, I thought it best not to mention my encounter with Lord Richfield. No harm had come from it, and besides, between milord’s travel and my household duties, we barely saw each other. Much to my frustration. *** Dressed in a lovely gown the color of coppery fall leaves, I met Lord Thurgood and a new club member—not Lord Richfield—just outside the closed library doors later the next Wednesday evening. “Miss Smith, I would like to introduce our newest member, Jonathan Albright. It is his good fortune to have been selected to accompany you this evening.” “And what of Lord Richfield, was he unable to attend tonight’s meeting?” I queried politely as if making small talk. The young man staring at me with his eyes about to fall from their sockets was obviously unaware of any underlying message in my words. “Lord Richfield is under the weather, he sends his apologies,” Lord Thurgood stated flatly.
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“What a pity.” I turned my attention without another glance to milord to young Mr. Albright. “Albright, is that from northern England?” I asked. He nodded enthusiastically. “Tell me, what would you like to do this evening? I am all yours.” I glanced over my shoulder and met Lord Thurgood’s steely gaze. Albright was a delightful young man, with a fresh innocence that I found appealing, if not a bit titillating in a wicked way. However, I more enjoyed the flicker of jealousy in milord’s eyes upon my mention of Lord Richfield’s name. “You’re enchanting, Miss Smith, I must say,” Alrbight went on. “Perhaps we could start with a walk in this lovely garden that Thurgood touts so much about?” From behind, Lord Thurgood’s voice squelched the idea entirely with a steady, quiet tone. “A reminder that Miss Smith’s services are limited to her chambers.” “My apologies, Lord Thurgood,” the poor man stammered. “Perhaps I should escort you to Miss Smith’s chambers so you will not get lost.” “That won’t be—“ I began, but Lord Thurgood’s hand touched my lower back and with gentle determination he moved me forward. “It’s no trouble. After all, being new and somewhat younger than the rest of us, Mr. Albright is still not familiar with the club’s protocol. As host it’s only right that I should be of service.” He followed us up the stairs directly to my chamber door. Only after we were inside did he bow and bid us goodnight. I closed the door, holding inside the fury I had for Lord Thurgood’s blatant humiliation. “My apologies sir, milord has been under considerable pressure with his work as of late.” The young man stood by my bed, his wide-eyed gaze confirming my earlier suspicions. “Mr. Albright, I wonder if I might ask something which I don’t wish you to take offense to?” Visibly shy, his round cheeks blushed. “I am quite nervous. I guess that is apparent.” “Forgive me, I had, but there is no need to be nervous. Come sit and let’s chat a bit. Would a glass of brandy ease your tension?” I offered him a small splash in a snifter that I’d taken from the library. The way I saw it, Lord Thurgood still had a number of other sets to choose from. “Have you ever been with a woman, Mr. Albright?” I sat on the edge of the bed across from him. He took a swallow, his eyes still scanning my room and shook his head. “I didn’t want to reveal it to the others. They seem so…well, quite well-versed in that area. I was afraid of the repercussions.” I stood and began to undress calmly as if I was alone. “Do you have a sweetheart, Mr. Albright?” I glanced over my shoulder and saw his gaze dart to mine. “I do, and I confess that…that I fear I shall not…perform to her satisfaction on our wedding night.”
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I found his honesty refreshing, if not endearing. “Perhaps Mr. Albright, we could be of help to each other?” At that, he sat forward, focused on my offer. “Indeed, madam, I am willing if you are.” I hung up my gown and drew on my boudoir robe, tying the sash at my waist. He swallowed as if I was naked before him. “Mr. Albright, how well do you know the members of the boys’ club?” He relaxed, easing back into the chair. “I’ve had business dealings with most of the members for a few years now. I guess I could say I know most of them relatively well, at least from a business standpoint.” “I am curious about one thing, and maybe this is where you could help me to understand the workings of the male mind,” I said, smiling demurely. “It’s Lord Thurgood and Lord Richfield. I understand they have known each other for some time, but can you tell me how the two get on beyond the realm of business?” He furrowed his brow in thought, taking his time to respond. I hoped I hadn’t overstepped the lines of club loyalties. “I have a remarkable admiration for both men. I’ve long known of each man in the business world, and they are both highly regarded and respected.” I nodded. “Without question, I’m quite certain.” Still, I sensed there was more than a stellar business practice between the two. Albright wrinkled his forehead as he frowned in thought. “However, since joining the club, it has become clear to me on a social level—” He darted me a concerned look. “This is my opinion only, and not to be repeated, you understand.” “What is spoken inside these walls remains here, Mr. Albright. I am bound to that by legal contract.” He cleared his throat. “Well then, I confess it’s been my observation that there exists a rather deep and underlying competitive spirit between the two men. I cannot discern if it is an amiable one or not, for both men are expert at masking their emotions. Do you understand my meaning, Miss Smith?” Indeed I did, and I believed that Lord Thurgood’s decision to replace Richfield with Albright this evening was rooted in that jealousy. And that I now felt I had tangible proof that Lord Thurgood might be forming deeper feelings about me. I smiled, standing in front of Albright and letting my robe fall open. “More than you know, Mr. Albright. And may I say that a man of your utter honesty and enthusiasm should have no issues in the bedroom.” He swallowed visibly as I took the glass from his hand.
Chapter Nine
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“I want you to touch me, Mr. Albright.” He blinked and edged forward in the chair, his face even with my breasts. “Are you quite sure, Miss Smith?” I took his hand and placed it over my breast. “I did promise to help you, if you helped me, didn’t I?” He uttered a soft gasp, licking his lips. “You are beautiful beyond anyone I’ve ever known, Miss Smith…with exception of my fiancée, of course.” “Which is why we are here, Mr. Albright, keep that in mind. This is to help you discover what already exists inside you,” I said, confident that all Mr. Albright truly needed was to believe in his masculinity. He glanced up at me, his eyes revealing that he was beginning to understand. With the care and gentleness of a new husband, he caressed my skin and drew me at the waist toward him. My robe spilled effortlessly to the floor, followed by my slip. My arms loose at my sides, I allowed his exploration of my body and was aroused by his gentle thoroughness. I kneeled before him, parting his knees and softly cupped his face. “We trust each other, don’t we, Mr. Albright?” He nodded. I set to the task of freeing his member from his trousers and it sprung forth at the ready. “Most impressive, Mr. Albright. Your new bride is quite the lucky woman.” “Miss Smith, is it proper for a woman to speak so?” I smiled. “I am no ordinary woman, Mr. Albright, as you are about to find out.” I eased my mouth over his velvet tip, teasing with my tongue, caressing his shaft. “Oh…M-Miss…Sm—ohhhh,” he groaned as his hands clasped the arms of the chair. His hips moved gently with my ministrations, and with his climax, I knew I’d gained a confidant within the boys’ club. I rose to cleanse myself and brought him a towel. “This will be our private secret, Mr. Albright. You may tell the members anything you like.” He refastened his trousers. “Oh, good woman, you are a remarkable find.” He reached for me, enveloping me in a fierce hug. We parted at my chamber door and as he prepared to go downstairs, he encountered Lord Thurgood. I caught only snippets of their conversation, though I could see the animated expression of delight on Mr. Albright’s face. I’d no idea what he told Lord Thurgood, but milord glanced over his shoulder at me with an unreadable expression. I held milord’s gaze a moment before shutting the door.
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I could not deny the feelings that I had for Lord Thurgood, though it pained me to think that they were in vain. *** At breakfast, Cook told me that Lord Thurgood had left again late in the evening and had not yet returned home. It was as I cleaned the front hall about an hour later that he returned, looking rather unkempt and out of sorts. Perhaps he’d received some bad news…. But the stench of ale as he stumbled past me revealed he had not returned from a business meeting. “Cook!” he bellowed, giving no regard to my presence. Immediately she emerged from the kitchen. “I want my coffee strong and brought to my chambers. And I don’t wish to be disturbed before at least ten o’clock, understood?” “Yes, milord.” She glanced at me as she scurried away. Giving me no acknowledgement, he continued with great effort up the stairs. *** “It’s for you, Miss Smith.” The cook had answered the messenger at the door, and now handed me an envelope. Over the past few months, I’d received small tokens of affection and appreciation from several club members, many of the floral bouquets I sent on to the children’s ward of the local hospital so milord would not know of them. “What could this be?” I tore the seal and read the card inside. A ball of cold dread formed in my stomach. “What is it, Miss Smith? Bad news?” Cook touched my shoulder. I read the note once again to be sure of its content, then I handed it to Cook. She took the note and read aloud. “I apologize that matters being what they were, we were unable to spend our evening together as I’d hoped. By now, Miss Smith, you must know of the deep affection I have for you. It is my intent upon my return to speak at once to Lord Thurgood on the matter of revoking your contract so you are free to address an issue which, I feel, is of utmost importance to your future. Kind regards, Lord Richfield.” Cook covered her mouth and her wide-eyed gaze met mine. “This sounds like he plans to—“ I could only nod in fascination and wondered how Lord Thurgood would receive the news.
Chapter Ten
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It was only a few days later as I was hanging my private items in the bathroom that I heard the loud voices in the hallway downstairs. I stepped quietly to the first landing and immediately recognized Lord Richfield. He stood toe-to-toe with Lord Thurgood. “You’ve no right to keep Lucille from being happy!” “Who says that she’d be happy with you? Besides, until the contract is up, she’s mine, bought and paid for.” My knees went weak as I realized they were arguing over me like a piece of property, neither one considering what my feelings were in all of this. “I’ll take you to court on this, Thurgood. It wouldn’t do well for your name to be involved in a public scandal.” “Do as you like, Brandon, but my answer is the same. Miss Smith is not negotiable.” I stepped to the top of the stairs, staring down at the both of them. “You are quite right on that point, Lord Thurgood. What right do either of you have to squabble over me like a holiday ham? Is that all I am to you? A prize? A trophy to the best man?” Lord Richfield at least had the decency to look contrite. He met me on the stair, knelt and took my hand. “My dear Lucille, I am sorry you’ve had to hear this. Rest assured that my affection for you grows even as I speak and I will use every means to rescue you and give you the full life you deserve.” He stood then and kissed my cheek, not waiting for my response as he headed toward the front door. He might have had a different gait had he known that I wanted to plant my shoe up his arse. He pointed his hat at Lord Thurgood. “You’ll hear from my lawyer.” The door slammed behind him. My gaze lifted to Lord Thurgood’s iron gaze. He made no move to speak and the roiling in my stomach caused me to turn and bolt up the stairs to my room, soundly locking the door behind me. Sometime later, in the dark of night, I heard a gentle tapping on my door, but I pretended to be asleep. *** By morning, I’d made my choice. Lord Thurgood could take me to court if he had to. I wasn’t about to stay another minute in this house. I packed what I’d come with, dressed in my old clothes and prepared to face Lord Thurgood.
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“Ah, good, Miss Smith, I wanted to speak with you last night, but you must have been asleep.” He emerged from his study with a stack of papers in hand, but stopped abruptly when he saw my attire. “Lord Thurgood.” I swallowed, unsure of how his temper would respond to my news. “I find that my position here is not working as well as planned. Therefore I am giving my two weeks notice, as is customary in most employer agreements.” “What?” His voice rose as his expression clouded with an impending storm. “I warn you, Miss Smith, if you leave I shall be forced to use whatever means to prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.” My ire rose at his challenge. “Go ahead, sir, and I will confess to exactly what my job entailed.” That sobered his attention. He straightened. “I am sorry, but you are not permitted to leave.” I would give the use of my arms were he to give me a reason to stay, yet it seemed I was but a pawn in a game between two selfish, bull-headed rich men. “I am not asking your permission, Mr. Thurgood.” I opened the door, and in an instant, Lord Thurgood’s arm appeared over my shoulder slamming it shut. I turned with my back to the door, my heart racing at the storm raging in his eyes. “Damn, you are one stubborn woman.” He grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me, hard. As if a prison gate had been thrown open, I was free to respond with all that had been building inside me these many months. I could not breathe for the ferocity of his kisses, capturing my mouth again and again as he drew me further into his study. He paused briefly to lock the door and resumed his passion, backing me to his desk. Papers flew everywhere as he cleared the surface. “I have wanted you from the first day, Miss Smith, and just as I suspect you’d hoped, it has been pure torture to watch you walk away on the arm of another man each month. I never slept; I couldn’t stay in the same house knowing you were with them, their hands, and not mine, all over you.” Fire burned his eyes, just as I’d seen that first day. He deftly unbuttoned my meager blouse, focusing his attention on my breasts. I held his head to my chest and accommodated his wishes when he tugged my skirts over my hips. “I imagined every one of them was you,” I sighed as he freed himself from his trousers. How long I had dreamt of this moment, how many times I had dreamt of seeing his tempest eyes devouring me. “Hurry, I have waited too long.” He lifted me to the desk’s edge and I hugged his neck as he lay me down, pushing my knees apart, entering me swift and sure. Relentless, caught in the powerful emotions etched on his face, he drove into me again and again, his groans matching mine.
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“Look at me, Lucille—you are no longer bound by any paper. I want you to want me by choice.” Flames coursed through my veins, his admission fanning my arousal. “Tell me what you want, Lucille, Lucy…” he spoke my name with a soft intimacy, just as he had that first afternoon. This time I responded without hesitation. “You and you alone, milord.” “I am pleased to hear that, as I feel the same.” Thrice more he pushed into me and we clung to each other as we toppled into oblivion. “Milord,” I breathed against his shoulder, pleased with how he felt resting on top of me. “What about the boys’ club?” “If there is no club, there is no contract,” he remarked, pulling me upright. “Nor do you have a job as housekeeper.” He adjusted his clothing and settled his hands over mine, buttoning my blouse in place. “Excuse me? Are you saying that I am without a position?” “I want to offer you a new position, Miss Smith.” My heart lifted. “However, it will require a woman of adventure, and most assuredly more times such as the one we’ve just had.” “I’m intrigued, sir. What position would you like me to assume?” His grin was wicked. “In that regard, good lady, I have a myriad of positions to share with you. But my offer is of a more permanent nature.” He knelt on one knee before me. I steadied my hand on my heart, preparing to hear my deepest fantasy come true. “I am asking you to be my companion, my lover, my wife.” I grinned as I curled my arms around his neck. “I accept, Lord Thurgood, most happily, on all counts. When shall we get started?”
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The Forgetful Fiancee by Kara Lennox Kevin thought he'd left Tara behind in Chicago. So what's she doing in tiny Hardyville, Colorado, with a three-month-old baby, and no memory of their breakup?
Chapter One "Deputy Rayburn? That woman at the hospital—she's awake and asking for you." Kevin Rayburn's heart quickened. "Me?" he spoke into the radio. "How does she even know me?" "Dunno. But I figured you'd want to know." "I'll be right there." Kevin turned onto the highway and accelerated toward Colby County Hospital. This was the first violent crime he'd had to deal with since moving to Hardyville, Colorado, less than a year ago, and it made his gut twist. He'd thought he'd left beatings and muggings behind in Chicago. Yet early this morning, he'd learned that a young woman had been found unconscious in a fast-food parking lot at the edge of town, her purse missing. One of the other deputies had taken the call, but since it was the biggest news in Hardyville all year, everyone was talking about it. The story had been especially intriguing because the unidentified woman had been clutching an infant, a baby boy who was unharmed in the attack. When he arrived at the hospital, Kevin was directed to the second floor where the mystery woman was being cared for. He hoped she had a clear memory of what had happened. Whoever the jerk was who'd hit her on the head, Kevin intended to catch him and make it clear that violence wasn't tolerated in Hardyville. His hometown, just sixty miles from Colorado Springs, was a throwback, a former gold-rush town that had never gotten caught up in the hustle and bustle of ski resorts. It didn't even have a Starbucks, and Kevin liked it that way. As Kevin approached the door to the woman's room, a feminine voice, sounding distressed, came from inside. "I don't understand this at all. Why am I so bloated? And what happened to my hair?" That voice. It sounded just like…but it couldn't be. Tara Satterfield would never set foot outside Chicago, unless it was to visit New York. She wouldn't be caught dead in "the sticks," as she referred to any place with a population of under a million. And she most definitely wouldn't be traveling with a baby. He'd never met a woman less…maternal. His heart ached, as it always did when he thought of Tara. Ruthlessly he pushed aside the memories that threatened to invade his peace of mind. Those were for later, when he was alone in his bed. "Maybe Deputy Rayburn can shed some light on things," another female voice said soothingly. Kevin knocked on the partially open door. "Someone call?" He stepped into the room—and received the shock of his life. It was Tara. Even with a black eye and a fat lip, and with her blond hair cut short, the woman lying in the hospital bed was unmistakably his exgirlfriend. He hadn't seen her in almost a year, since he'd so abruptly left Chicago. "Oh, Kevin, thank God! What took you so long? Please, tell me what's going on." The nurse, who'd been changing a bandage on Tara's arm, looked at Kevin. "You know her?"
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"Yes, she's my—she's Tara Satterfield." Looking lost and scared, Tara reached for him, and reflexively he bent over the bed and hugged her. The feel of her, the smell of her hair, brought those painful memories screaming back into his head. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" The endearment slipped out without effort. "I think so. But how did I get here? Were we visiting your aunt?" Kevin reluctantly released her. "You don't remember?" "The last thing I remember is us going out to dinner with the Brinkmans. How long ago was that?" Good Lord. Kevin barely remembered that dinner, but it was at least a year ago. "Kevin?" Tara looked up at him with improbably green eyes. "Will you tell me what's going on? And what's with the khaki uniform?" Before he could answer, his Aunt Debra waltzed into the hospital room, a scrunched-up blanket in her arms. Debra had raised Kevin after his parents died, and he loved her fiercely. She was also a volunteer at the hospital and the town busybody. "Well, well, I heard through the grapevine you were awake and kicking," Debra said to Tara, her curly red hair bobbing as she walked. "I'm sure you're anxious to see this young man." She plopped the blanket onto Tara's lap. That was when Kevin realized it wasn't just a blanket. Tara looked at the sleeping baby as if it were an alien invader, making no move to touch it. "Excuse me? You must have the wrong room." The nurse and Debra exchanged worried looks. "Dearheart," the nurse said, "this is definitely your baby. At least, he was with you when you were found." Tara looked to Kevin for help. "Tell them, Kevin. Tell them there's been a mistake." Kevin was as shocked as Tara. He'd known the mystery woman had been found with a baby, but he'd forgotten about that once he'd realized the woman was Tara. The child appeared to be about three months old, which left Kevin with an inescapable conclusion: He was a father. Tara had borne him a child, though she hadn't seen fit to tell him about it. Tara felt like she was in the middle of some weird dream. She could make out every eyelash of the strange child the social worker had put in her lap; she could smell the antibiotic ointment the nurse had just applied to the scrape on her arm. But as hard as she tried, she couldn't remember how she had gotten to this hospital room in Hardyville, Colorado, a bazillion miles from her home in Chicago—and not a place she would go unless a team of mules were dragging her. They told her she'd been mugged. Someone had hit her over the head in a parking lot and stolen her purse, and probably her car, too. The baby stirred and started to fret. Instinctively Tara's arms went around him, and she realized with a bolt of clarity that yes, indeed, this was her child. Though she couldn't remember, this felt right. A recent pregnancy would explain why her body felt softer, not the reed-thin figure she remembered, and why she'd changed her hairstyle to something short and no-fuss. The woman who'd brought the baby looked anxiously at Tara. "Are you saying this isn't your baby? Because if it's not, I'd like to know —"
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"He's mine," Tara said with certainty, silently acknowledging the fact that she'd misplaced a good chunk of her memory. Maybe she didn't consciously remember this baby, but her instincts told her he belonged with her. The woman looked relieved. "I'll take him back whenever you're ready. I'm a volunteer here at the hospital, and I've been caring for him while you're —" Abruptly she looked over at Kevin. "Kevin, what are you doing here? You found the creep who hurt this lovely young woman, I hope." "This isn't just any lovely young woman," Kevin said, his voice curiously thick. "This is Tara." The woman's faded blue eyes bulged in surprise. "Your Tara?" Kevin nodded. Suddenly the woman was all smiles as she looked at Tara anew. "Oh my gosh, Tara! I'd hug you to pieces, but I don't want to hurt you, what with your injuries and all. I'm Kevin's Aunt Debra. It is just such a pleasure to finally, finally meet you." "Likewise," Tara said uncertainly. So this was the woman who'd raised Kevin. "Could…could someone please tell me what day it is?" "Why, Tuesday," Debra replied. "No, I mean, the date." "April first," Kevin said. "And the year?" Debra and the nurse both jerked in surprise at the question, but Kevin didn't. He told her, confirming her suspicions. She had lost an entire year of her life. And what a year it must have been, she thought, looking down at the baby. "I'll just go find your doctor," the nurse said as she briskly left the room. Aunt Debra gently smoothed Tara's hair. "Whatever's wrong, I'm sure living in Hardyville will set you straight. You probably just need to rest. " "I'm not going to live here," Tara objected, a little more strongly than she'd meant. She softened her voice and looked at Kevin. "Am I?" Kevin shrugged. He'd said precious little since coming into the room, making her wonder what was going on in his head. "Well, of course you're going to live here," Debra said. "That's what you were coming here for. To live in Hardyville and marry Kevin."
Chapter Two Kevin started to object. Why would Aunt Debra tell Tara that the two of them were getting married? He and Tara had never broached the subject of marriage, much less agreed to it. In fact, they hadn't even seen each other since they broke up and he quit the Chicago police force to move here.
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Debra gave Kevin a warning look that caused him to hold his tongue. He would find out why she'd told such a whopper before calling her on it. He took his aunt by the arm. "Excuse us a minute, Tara." Then he none-too-gently dragged Debra out of Tara's hospital room into the corridor. "What was that all about?" "Oh, Kevin, don't you see? This is a golden opportunity. You've been mooning over Tara ever since you got here. Whenever I urge you to try and make up with her, to convince her to move to Hardyville and be with you, you say it's impossible. She loves Chicago, hates small towns. Well, now fate is stepping in. She was coming here for some reason. My guess is that she wanted to introduce you to your son…he is your son, isn't he? I mean, you and Tara didn't break up because she was carrying some other man's—" "He's mine," Kevin acknowledged. God, she had to have already been pregnant that night they broke up. Why hadn't she told him? Then again, he was glad she hadn't. After the events at work that day, he'd been perilously close to a mental meltdown. Shocking news like impending fatherhood might have sent him over the edge. Anyway, he'd been behaving like such a psychotic jerk, no wonder she'd said nothing about the baby. "Then who knows?" Debra continued. "Maybe Tara was coming here, hoping you'd make an honest woman out of her." "But we can't just lie to her and pretend that's the case," Kevin said reasonably, although he couldn't deny that the idea of marrying Tara and having her settle down here with him would be all he'd ever wanted. And a baby, a son…that part was pretty overwhelming. No, terrifying. But he would do right by the child. He had to. "We won't lie for long," Debra said. "She's going to have to stay here a while anyway, to recuperate. She's not in any shape to rush back to Chicago and resume work and single motherhood. She needs rest, and Hardyville is the best place for that. Don't you agree?" He couldn't argue with Debra's logic. His hometown, nestled in the foothills of the Rockies, was a healing place, with its friendly people and laid-back pace, picture-postcard vistas in every direction. "You said she hates small towns, but she's never lived in one like Hardyville. Once she gives it a chance, she'll want to stay. And marry you. And then it won't be a lie anymore." "I won't actually marry her under false pretenses," Kevin said. "You won't have to. We'll tell her the truth after a couple of weeks—that we simply didn't know why she was here. Then, if she's not convinced this is the place for her, she can go home." Yeah, she'll go home madder than hell at me for lying, Kevin thought. Tara might never speak to him again. But was that any worse than the way things had been over the past year?
*** Two days later, Tara was released from the hospital, and her memory of the past year still hadn't returned. Her doctor said it might never, but chances were that bits and pieces would start to float into consciousness. She hoped so. She hated to think of never remembering her pregnancy, or giving birth to Andrew. Andrew. She'd had to ask, with some embarrassment, what her own baby's name was. Kevin had told her she'd named the baby after her father, who had died three years ago. That had sounded right, she'd thought, gradually coming to terms with the fact that she was a mother. Debra had been bringing Andrew to the hospital for long visits. Tara had amazed herself by knowing how to diaper and feed and burp Andrew without any instruction, but she had no idea how she knew.
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As Kevin drove her home from the hospital, she peppered him with questions. "I became pregnant by accident, right?" "Yes." "Why didn't we get married sooner?" "We didn't want to rush into anything." That seemed odd. She recalled the night they'd had dinner with their married friends. That was the first time it hit had her that she wanted to marry Kevin, and she'd been wondering how to broach the subject. She must have discovered her pregnancy soon after. So Kevin must have been the one who was marriage shy. She had a hard time imagining Kevin, always so responsible and duty-bound, hesitating to take responsibility for his child. "We also disagreed about where to live," Kevin continued. "I was sick of Chicago and all the violent crime. I wanted to raise our child somewhere more wholesome. You were dead set against leaving Chicago." "I changed my mind, though?" She supposed she must have. "Hardyville is a fine place to raise children," Kevin said. It didn't escape her attention that he hadn't actually answered her question. Had he coerced her into moving here? She couldn't imagine that, either. "I moved here first and got settled. You were finishing up some big contracts and arranging for Cindy to take over your clients." Cindy was Tara's partner in an interior design firm. "Did I sell my condo?" Tara asked with a wave of sadness. She loved her condo, having furnished it with loving attention to every detail from the hardwood floors to the switch plates. Kevin hesitated. "It hasn't sold yet." She felt relief when she knew she shouldn't have. She'd made a commitment, and there was no turning back. "Do we have a wedding date?" "Uh, yeah. June first." "Is that a Saturday?" "Well, we haven't actually picked an exact day," he qualified. "But some Saturday around June first." "Oh. So I haven't actually made any plans?" "You thought it might be easier to wait until you were actually here." "Two months isn't very long." Oh well, she'd never wanted an elaborate wedding. She studied Kevin in profile, acknowledging the changes in him. His wavy hair was longer than he'd worn it on the Chicago police force. His face was more tanned, as if he'd spent more time outdoors. He was also a bit leaner, harder, filling out his khaki uniform in intriguing ways.
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But the real change was his eyes. Still dark brown, still deep enough to drown in. But they carried a wariness that seemed alien to Tara, like he'd shuttered a part of himself off from the world—from her. Uneasy, she looked out the window at…nothing. Oh, there were fields and trees and mountains and blue sky, all very pretty. So pretty, in fact, that it didn't seem real. Where were the people? They'd hardly passed another car on the dinky road into town, much less passed a pedestrian. Already she was homesick. She loved Chicago, with its hustle and bustle, the noise, the traffic, the skyscrapers. She loved the nightlife, and the fact that she could get Chinese food at two in the morning, if she wanted. She loved being able to hop on the subway and go anywhere she wanted, or waste a whole Sunday afternoon in a museum. "Does Hardyville have any museums?" she asked impulsively. Kevin laughed. "Not unless you count the collection of elk antlers on the wall at the Hole-In-Your-Shoe Saloon." "You're making that up. There's no such place." "I'll take you there tonight." Oh, God. How was she going to survive?
Chapter Three Tara glanced over her shoulder at Andrew, sleeping peacefully in the back seat of the police cruiser as Kevin drove them home from the hospital. For him, she thought. She would cope with her life's changing circumstances for Andrew's sake. Urban Chicago was a great place for an adult, but not a child. A child needed green grass under his feet and places he could roam without fear of being hit by a bus. A child needed fresh air, at least. And a child needed a father. Kevin looked over at her and immediately sobered. He must have caught the dismal expression on her face. "C'mon, Tara, it's not that bad. We're an hour from Colorado Springs, which most definitely has museums." "Kevin? Where's my stuff?" "What stuff?" "You know, all the things from my apartment. My furniture, my clothes, my dishes…" "In storage. Well, some things you brought with you, I'm sure, but they were stolen with your car." That seemed strange. If she was moving here for good, she would have brought her furniture with her. She shuddered to think about the interior of Kevin's house, her future home. He was color-blind. She could only hope his Aunt Debra helped him decorate. "Maybe I was driving a U-Haul truck," she thought aloud, but that only made her more depressed. Her beautiful designer furniture could be in Mexico with her mugger by now. "You flew to Colorado Springs and rented a car—that much we've figured out. Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll catch the guy."
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For no reason at all, tears sprang to Tara's eyes. She hadn't cried since waking up in the hospital to discover her life was upside down, but all at once it got to her. She wanted her old life back. She wanted her cell phone and her Rolodex, her big-screen TV with the satellite connection and two hundred channels. She wanted her Daytimer packed with appointments. She wanted…oh, she didn't know what she wanted. Kevin noticed a strange noise coming from the other side of the car. "Are you crying?" "Yes, and just let me, okay?" "No, it's not okay." He couldn't remember ever seeing Tara cry. He pulled the cruiser over to the side of the road, cut the engine, unfastened his seat belt and scooted next to her on the bench seat. He put his arms around her and held her close, murmuring gentle, soothing phrases as she cried on his shirt. "I know it's hard, I know, baby," he soothed. "We'll work everything out." "I want to remember," she sobbed. "I want to know how I got from there to here. God knows I love you, Kevin, but…but…" "You can't imagine why you wanted to move here," he said, completing her thought. "It's just so different." "You haven't even given it a chance. Try it for a while." "I will. I never meant to imply I would go back on my word. Obviously I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. You'll just have to endure my little…fits of adjustment." A spear of guilt stabbed Kevin straight through the heart. He never should have let Debra talk him into this lie. But if he told Tara the truth now, she would turn tail for Chicago faster than a spooked rabbit. At least he could have a couple of weeks with her first, some memories to draw on during the long Colorado winter nights to come. She stopped crying after a few more minutes, much to his relief. But he still held her. With her new, softer curves, she felt better than ever in his arms. His groin tightened at the memory of their lovemaking. Her mind must have been traveling along similar corridors, because she asked, "Kevin, how long has it been since we made love?" "Way too long." That much, at least, was the sincerest truth. "How fast can we remedy that situation?" His breathing came faster. "Darling, as fast as I can haul this car home." Tara might have forgotten a lot of things, but one thing she did remember was how good she and Kevin were together. They'd dated for three years—two of which she could remember—and during that time their ardent desire for each other had never dulled with time and familiarity. As Kevin pulled his car into the driveway of a natural wood house on the outskirts of town, Tara's anticipation grew. Surely, once she was in his arms, things would become clear again. She'd always found such comfort in Kevin's lovemaking, as well as excitement.
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She gave the modern house, nestled in a grove of birch, a cursory inspection as Kevin unfastened the baby's car seat restraints. It suited him, she decided, and it was far more appealing to her than she would have hoped. She'd always loved contemporary design. In fact, she was known for her daring, almost futuristic concepts when it came to her own design work. But this house had a warmth about it, too, something very inviting. Kevin handed Andrew to Tara, and she took him with a naturalness she wouldn't have dreamed of before. "What do you think?" Kevin asked. "Nice, very nice," she said with a smile. "But I'm more interested in the interior. Of the bedroom." Kevin almost broke his neck getting to the front porch and unlocking the door. Tara paid little attention to the inside of the house. Her body was primed, and all she could think about was shucking her clothes—and his—and slaking her desire. She was always like this when it came to Kevin and sex. She had tunnel vision. That was probably how she'd ended up pregnant, she reflected. She'd forgotten birth control one too many times. Kevin led her to a nursery. Tara absorbed the impression of ducks—lots of cute ducks—as she laid Andrew in the crib. Someone, probably Debra, had prepared for Andrew's arrival. Deprived of his mother's arms, he fretted a bit. "What's wrong with him?" Kevin asked, sounding unnaturally alarmed. "Nothing, as far as I know." Tara rubbed Andrew's stomach and murmured soothingly to him. Almost instantly he quieted, closed his eyes, and slept again. Then she turned and hooked her arms around Kevin's trim waist. "C'mon, let's get this show on the road," she said, nibbling his neck the way she knew drove him crazy. "I can't guarantee how long Andrew will sleep." Kevin scooped her up in his arms. "You don't have to ask twice." In the master bedroom, Kevin wasted no time in removing Tara's clothes, kissing every part of her body as he bared it. She felt a moment of embarrassment as she wondered how he felt about her new, fuller figure. Kevin, sensing her self-doubt, pulled her to him and enveloped her in a full-body hug. "You look beautiful. Motherhood has softened your sharp corners." "I had sharp corners?" Kevin rubbed her back, letting one hand slip down to cup her bottom. "You know what I mean. You could gain or lose a hundred pounds and I'd still love your body." That was the closest Kevin had ever come to saying "I love you" since she'd awakened in the hospital. He used to say it all the time. Now he seemed sort of reluctant to show his feelings. What had changed—besides her body—in the past year?
Chapter Four Kevin's hand ventured between Tara's legs, and she forgot her worries as a surge of white-hot longing shot through her body. He'd always been able to do this—make her mindless with passion even with the most casual of touches. "Mmm, my legs won't hold up much longer." She was amazed at how breathless her voice sounded.
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"I'll hold you." His breath tickled her as he probed and caressed. "I'm weak," she pleaded. "I'm debilitated. You're torturing me." "Okay, I'll stop." "No!" He chuckled as he continued his sensual assault. It must have been a very long time since they'd made love, she deduced. Why else would she be so…so… She amazed herself, and maybe him, by reaching a climax. "Oh, that wasn't fair. That was too fast." He laughed softly again, the sound giving her pleasurable goose bumps. "Then we'll just have to do it all again, won't we?" He swung her up and onto the bed, then took his time removing his own clothes. "You've got more muscles," she observed as he bared his chest and a six-pack of abs. "I chop a lot of wood." He didn't tell her that chopping wood was his method of choice for clearing his mind—of her. He'd produced enough logs for ten years' worth of winter nights. He let her stare at him for a few moments. The approval in her green eyes made him even more excited than he already was. She wasn't the only one who might reach peak performance before it was desirable. She held out her hand to him. "Lie with me, Kevin. I—I need you." He joined her in bed, wondering if she'd been about to say she loved him. If only she did. If only she hadn't had to force herself to come to Hardyville. He gently kissed her face, the hollow of her throat, the inside of her arm, and between her breasts—all the places guaranteed to drive her wild. And when she'd heated up again, he kissed her mouth with an almost savage intensity before entering her. He moved inside her, his own desires building to an almost unbearable peak until they overflowed. A raging bonfire exploded inside him. Moments later, as he lay spent and damp against her, she put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him, the kiss as gentle and loving as his had been rough and demanding. Surely she still loved him. She must. She'd been really angry the night they'd broken up, and rightfully so, but he couldn't believe that one argument would negate the foundation of trust and love they'd built before then. As they lay together in a cocoon of intimacy, Tara sighed deeply. This was good, really good. But sex by itself wasn't enough to make a marriage work—she'd heard that from countless sources. She would have to carve a place for herself, cultivate a life of purpose apart from wife and mother. But what could she possibly find to do here in the wilderness that would fulfill her? Start a mail-order homemade soap business? Raise rabbits? Get a job selling paint at the hardware store? The possibilities made her shiver with distaste. "Cold?" Kevin asked, drawing the covers over her bare torso. She was about to answer when a baby's cry startled her. It came from a small speaker on the nightstand—a baby monitor, she realized, a thoughtful touch. Debra's, or Kevin's? Tara groaned. "I don't suppose you'd like to check on your son, find out what the trouble is?"
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Kevin grew tense beside her. "I wouldn't know what to do. You and I have hardly seen each other in the past few months. I—I haven't really spent any time with Andrew alone since he was born." "Well, you'd better start learning, Daddy-boy," she said playfully, although tension bloomed inside her chest. Surely Kevin wasn't going to turn out to be one of those macho fathers who thought taking care of children was women's work. Tara all but dragged Kevin with her to check on Andrew. Now that her mind was clearer, she took a good look at the nursery. Fussy, fussy, fussy, with yellow ducks and blue elephants everywhere. But it was well equipped, with everything she would need to care for an infant, and for that she was grateful. Aunt Debra's work, no doubt. "Ah, just as I suspected," she said after a quick diaper check. "He needs a change. You do know how to change a diaper, right?" "I'm not very good at it. I'll watch you do this one. Then the next one's mine." "That seems fair." He watched dutifully as Tara went through the now routine task, wiping, powdering, and taping on the new diaper. "Seems easy enough. Will he go back to sleep now?" "I doubt it. Getting close to feeding time." "Okay. I need to make a phone call." And just like that, Kevin disappeared upstairs. Tara sighed. What was wrong with Kevin? She'd never known him to be tentative or wishy-washy about anything. Did he just plain not like kids? Or was he resentful of being trapped into marriage by an unplanned pregnancy? If that was the case, she couldn't go through with the wedding. She could not bind herself to a man whose resentment for his wife and child might well turn to something worse. She had been telling herself she loved him, but could she truly love a man who didn't put his own offspring first?
*** It took Kevin a couple of minutes after he reached his home office before he stopped trembling. It was a baby, just a baby. But nothing had ever scared him like his own son. Get a grip, he ordered himself. There was no reason to believe he could not learn to competently, responsibly care for his own child. But then he started thinking of the hundreds of things that could go wrong. He hadn't anticipated such a visceral response to the baby, and such a confusion of feelings. He couldn't help but love Andrew, a tiny human being that he and Tara had created together. But he was also terrified. The fear was a result of the events in Chicago—he was smart enough to figure that out. His last day on the force had forever changed him. Before then, he'd liked children, had even participated in some programs to help underprivileged kids. Afterward, though, the sheer miracle of a child's life…and the tragedy of her death…had hit Kevin with the force of a wrecking ball. He hadn't told Tara about that day's tragedy. She might have heard about it on the news, but she wouldn't have known he was involved. He'd been too close to it, too wrapped up in his sins to confide in
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anyone, even her. His lack of honesty had cost him the relationship, he realized now. They'd broken up that same day. He would just have to find the strength to bury his fears, he realized. And meanwhile, he needed to find out what Tara's actual plans had been when she'd come to Hardyville. He didn't want any harm to come to her business in Chicago as a result of this little game he was playing. He found her partner's phone number and called her, relieved to get her right away. "Cindy? It's Kevin Rayburn, Tara's…friend." "Thank God! I've been trying to get Tara on her cell phone. Has something happened?" "Her car was stolen," Kevin said. "She also…she's okay, don't worry, but she can't exactly remember how she got to Hardyville." "You mean she has amnesia? What about Andrew?" After calming Cindy down and explaining everything, he asked her to rearrange Tara's appointments and make sure her bills were paid on time. Tara was going to be furious with him as it was. No need for him to wreck her business or her credit rating while he was lying to her. "I'll give you a week to come clean with her," Cindy finally said. "But only because I think what you guys had is worth salvaging. And because Andrew needs a father. But you do right by Tara, or you'll answer to me."
Chapter Five Tara's strength came back more quickly than she would have thought possible, and she fell into a comfortable routine. She got up early with Kevin, they made breakfast together, and he left for work. Then she fed the baby, bathed him, dressed him, all tasks she had once imagined to be drudgery. But everything was fun with Andrew. She delighted in each smile, each wiggle, each time she caught him looking at something with a baby's awe. While the baby napped, which he did a lot, she tackled the decor of her new home, eradicating Kevin's ugly bachelor theme. Kevin had told her she could do whatever she wanted, so she went hog-wild. "What's this?" Kevin asked one evening when he got home from work. "Berber carpet." Tara realized she should have at least warned him. "Stain-resistant—very important when you have kids." "What happened to my sofa?" "It's in your office." She bit her lip, wondering if she'd gone too far buying the sage-green sofa and matching chair, and the sage-and-clay striped love seat. Were the colors too girly? They would play in Chicago, but how about Hardyville? Kevin sat in the chair. He bounced experimentally, then leaned back and nodded with satisfaction. "Okay. What's for dinner?" She breathed a sigh of relief. "I started a pot of chili." Most evenings, she and Kevin cooked dinner together. He'd turned into a good cook over the past year, probably out of necessity. No human being could endure the greasy food at the Hole-In-Your-Shoe Saloon seven nights a week.
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"I'll make some corn bread to go with it." She smiled, then waited, as she did every evening, for him to ask about his son. If she was away from Andrew for even a few minutes, he was the first thing she asked about when she returned. But Kevin didn't, and it bothered her. A lot. There was something not quite normal about Kevin's attitude toward Andrew, but she couldn't figure out what it was. He seemed interested in the baby whenever they were in the same room, sometimes watching him like a hawk. But he wouldn't touch Andrew unless it was forced on him. While Kevin changed out of his uniform, Andrew woke from his nap. Tara fed him then put him in a Snugli while she worked on the stock for the chili. Kevin, freshly showered and smelling like soap and clean clothes, entered the kitchen and started on corn bread batter. "Debra thinks we should have the wedding reception at the VFW Hall," Tara said. "I thought we should have it here at the house. The weather will be nice, so we can spill out onto the deck. And of course, Cindy should play the music." Kevin froze. "Cindy and her violin?" "And maybe a couple of her chamber music friends. Not a good idea?" "First off, the whole town will come to the wedding, whether we invite them or not, and the house isn't big enough. Second, they'll expect beer and barbecue and some real lively foot-stompin' music." "Then they'll just have to be crowded and disappointed." But a second later she asked, "Is that how everybody does weddings here?" "Yup." She sighed. "Oh, all right. I don't want everyone to think I'm putting on airs." She grabbed the jar of chili powder from the spice rack and realized it was empty. "Shoot, we're out of chili powder. I'm going to run down to Debra's and borrow some." She put Andrew in his playpen then grabbed her jacket from the hook by the garage door. A look of alarm crossed Kevin's face. "You're taking Andrew with you, right?" She looked at Kevin like he was crazy. "I'll be gone ten minutes. It would take me longer than that just to get him ready." "Then I'll go," Kevin said. "I haven't been out of the house all day," she said, picking up his car keys from where he'd left them on the counter. "I could use the fresh air." "In that case, why don't all three of us go. In fact, let's bag the chili. I'll take us out to Wild Bill's for pizza." She nailed him with a penetrating stare. "I'll be ten minutes." Then she turned and headed for the garage door. "Wait!" She stopped, turned. "What is it?" Before he could answer, she realized the problem. Kevin did not want to stay with Andrew. "Do you find your own son so repugnant?"
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"God, Tara, it's not that." "It is that. You won't even touch him. I've been trying to deny it, but any fool can see the truth. You despise being a father. You're trying to do your duty, but you wish I'd never gotten pregnant." "No, you've got it wrong." But she'd worked herself up into a state, and she wasn't backing down. "Well, I won't have it. I won't be a burden to any man, not even you, Kevin. I guess I should have taken you at your word when you said you never wanted children." They both stood there for a few moments, shocked at the words Tara had just spoken. And Tara realized that something from the previous year had broken through the barrier in her memory. The night she'd gone to tell Kevin she was pregnant. He'd passionately vowed that he would never bring a child into the world. And she'd left his apartment without telling him of her condition. Other memories rushed through the crack in the dam created by the first. Then it all fell into place. Kevin knew just by the look in Tara's eyes that she remembered. Watching the emotions that played across her face was like reading her thoughts—and boy, was he in trouble. "I can explain," he said quickly. "Like hell you can. You lied to me. You and your aunt and, for all I know, the whole godforsaken town." "I had a good reason." "It couldn't possibly be good enough. I trusted you. Now you've destroyed that trust, and nothing can bring it back." Kevin couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want to talk about trust? And honesty? Oh, yeah, there's a good one. You were pregnant with my child, and you didn't even tell me about it." That took away some of her steam. "You didn't want children, a fact you made abundantly clear the night we broke up. I made the decision to have the baby alone for your sake, not mine." "Then why did you change your mind?" "I didn't, exactly. But Andrew was so precious, such a miracle…and he looks so much like you, sometimes. I thought I owed it to you to at least let you know the child existed. But I wasn't coming here to make up with you. Certainly not to marry you. And live here? In Hooterville? I don't think so." She brushed past him and headed for the nursery. Kevin started to follow her, then thought better of it. Maybe he ought to give her time to cool off. Oh, who was he kidding? All the cooling-off time in the world wasn't going to fix this. If he could make her understand why he'd said those things about not wanting children…but he realized that to do so would require opening a box in his memory that had been locked up tight since he left Chicago. That was somewhere he just couldn't go, not if he wanted to maintain his sanity.
Chapter Six
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After fleeing from her confrontation with Kevin, Tara took comfort in the refuge of her son's warm, cuddly body nestled in her arms. This was love, as pure as it came. Grown-up love, though, that was a lot more complicated. She loved Kevin. She couldn't stop loving him, no matter what he'd done. She realized that, in his mind, Kevin could somehow justify the deceit he'd perpetrated. He sure hadn't pretended they were engaged out of a desire to be with his son. Maybe Debra had pressured him into "doing the right thing." Or perhaps he'd lied to her from some misguided notion that he knew what was best for Tara. And maybe he did know, she thought glumly as she settled into a rocking chair with her sleeping child. These past couple of weeks had been some of the happiest of her life. As she'd settled into the rhythm of country living, she'd hardly given a thought to her business. Things at her design firm were probably in a shambles. And what about her bills, her bank accounts, all the pieces of her life she'd walked out on? She'd intended to be back home a week ago. Had Kevin even thought about that? She heard the phone ring, then stop. Kevin had answered. She hoped it wasn't for her. She wasn't up to talking to anyone. A few moments later, Kevin tapped on the nursery door. "What?" she snapped. He stuck his head through the door. "I have to go. The guy who mugged you was caught in the next county, trying to sell your rental car. We'll talk when I get back." She refused to even look at him. With a sigh, he closed the door. Tara knew what she had to do. She had to go home. If she gave Kevin the chance, he might convince her to stay—not because it was the right thing to do, but because, despite everything, she still wanted to be with him. But she had to think about Andrew. No child of hers would grow up under the same roof as a reluctant, bitter father. She made flight reservations from the airport at Colorado Springs for later that evening. It didn't take her long to pack up her things. She'd only bought a few items of clothing to replace what was stolen. Andrew took longer—she couldn't believe all the paraphernalia babies required. While she packed, she thought about her mugger. She'd never even seen his face, as he'd attacked her from behind. She was glad they'd caught the guy, but she hoped she wouldn't be required to testify in court. She didn't want to come back here for any reason. She never should have come in the first place. When she was ready she called a cab. The fare to Colorado Springs would be exorbitant but she still had a credit card, which had been tucked into her pocket and overlooked by the mugger. As the cab driver put her things in the trunk, she took one last look at the house. Kevin's house, nestled among the trees. She'd come to love it in so short a time. She purposely summoned thoughts of Chicago, where she'd lived for years, and which she'd missed so desperately the first few days in Colorado. Now, all she could remember was how noisy it was, how cramped her condo was, and how stressed out her hectic job made her feel. "We'll get used to it again," she said aloud to Andrew. Fighting tears, she climbed into the cab, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. Kevin would be surprised when he got home to find her gone. She hadn't even left a note. She figured that after what he'd done, he didn't deserve an explanation. Anyway, he would probably be relieved.
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*** It was after ten o'clock by the time Kevin returned home. The paperwork had been hell, but he'd managed to convince the sheriff in the neighboring county that the suspect should be prosecuted in Colby County, where the more serious crime had been committed. The house was dark. Tara was probably already asleep. Before she'd become a mother, she was a real night owl, hanging out with friends at late-night coffee houses or going to midnight movies at the local art-house theatre. Now sleep was a precious commodity. He wouldn't wake her up, he decided. Tomorrow would be soon enough for them to talk. He moved as quietly as possible through the house. His stomach rumbled at the chili he'd missed out on. Were there leftovers, he wondered? To his dismay, the half cooked pot of chili still sat on the stove, stone cold. Tara hadn't finished it. He hoped she hadn't gone to bed hungry. He helped himself to a couple of cookies from the jar, then went to the nursery to check on Andrew. The baby wasn't in his crib. Uneasiness crept up on Kevin. Surely the baby was just with Tara in the big bed. She had, on occasion, taken him to bed with her when he was fretful. Kevin had been worried he would roll over in the night and squash the child, so he'd made Tara keep Andrew on the other side of the bed. She'd probably thought that was another indication that he resented his son, he thought ruefully. A lot of his actions could be misinterpreted that way. When he found the master bedroom empty and Tara's clothes gone, he was forced to admit he'd been abandoned. He sank onto the bed, his gut churning, his head spinning. He'd known that lying to Tara was wrong. He'd have told her the truth in a few more days. His plan had been working—Tara had gradually been discovering the joys of country living. She might have been convinced to stay on her own and go through with the marriage. But her memory had returned too soon, and she'd made her decision. And taken away his son. Sure, he could petition the courts for visitation rights. But if Tara was against his having contact with Andrew, he couldn't see himself fighting with her over his parental rights. A child didn't need to grow up with his parents arguing over him. Besides, what had he done to indicate he ought to be given any rights where Andrew was concerned? He'd been a disgraceful father. Something caught his eye—a pad of paper with some writing on it next to the phone. He immediately recognized the numbers and letters as flight information. Below the flight was a local phone number, one he didn't recognize. Seized with an idea, he dialed the number. "Speedy Cab Service." "Sorry, wrong number." He hung up. So, Tara had taken a cab to the airport in Colorado Springs. And her flight didn't leave for another two hours. She might not be that far ahead of him. A plan began to form. Not a very good plan, he admitted, but at least he would be taking some sort of action, rather than letting the woman and child he loved vanish from his life forever. He headed for the door, grabbing his jacket on the way. Thank God he was still driving his police cruiser. He jumped in, cranked up the engine, and headed for the highway that led to Colorado Springs. Once on the open road, he pushed the speedometer to eighty, knowing no one would stop him. He spotted a Speedy Cab ahead of him, about ten miles from the airport. Could be anybody in that taxi, he thought. Then he noticed the cab had a broken taillight. Good enough. He turned on the flashing lights.
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Chapter Seven Tara spotted the flashing lights behind them at the same time as her driver. The driver cursed under his breath and slowed. "I knew I should have gotten that taillight fixed," he muttered. Tara knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, who was driving that Colby County cruiser, and writing up a ticket for a broken taillight wasn't his top priority. "It's just my boyfriend," Tara said to the driver. "Exboyfriend. Keep driving." "Are you crazy? I'm not gonna get involved in some crazy chase. Cabbies who do that, they end up on America's Most Dangerous Car Chases." He pulled over to the shoulder and dug around in the glove box for his papers. Tara slouched down in the seat, knowing she'd brought this on herself. She'd left her flight information right where Kevin would find it. Had she subconsciously done it on purpose? Had she wanted him to chase her down, to prove his love? Kevin, looking ominous in his khaki uniform, leaned down to speak with the driver. "Evening." "I know, I got a busted taillight," the driver said as he handed Kevin papers he hadn't asked for. "It's on back order at Jimmy's Auto Supply." "I believe you, Mr., um, Slater. And I won't write you a ticket. But I can't allow you to continue driving with a malfunctioning light." "One little taillight?" the driver objected. "Look, I gotta get this lady to the airport." "It just so happens I'm headed that way. I'll take the lady—" "You will do no such thing," Tara erupted, unable to keep silent any longer. "Then you'll sit here on the side of the road until another cab can come get you. If you come with me, you'll make your flight." "Then what's the point?" "There's a price to pay. You have to listen to what I have to say. Then, if you still want to return to Chicago, I won't stop you." Tara sighed. It was as fair an offer as she was likely to get. "Fine," she ground out as she worked at the seat belt that held Andrew's car seat. "But I'm not changing my mind." A few minutes later they were headed for the airport in Kevin's cruiser. She had paid the cabby, and Kevin had told him he could go, having capriciously decided the bad taillight was no longer a mortal danger to the drivers of Colorado. Now they sat in silence as the lights of Colorado Springs grew closer. "You'd better start talking," Tara said. "We haven't got much time." "This is harder than I thought it would be." "Start with something easy. How did you know Andrew's name?" In the hospital, when she'd realized she didn't even remember her own child's name, Kevin had come up with it. During her cab ride, she'd wondered if he'd had some prior knowledge of the baby.
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"It was a logical guess," Kevin answered. "So you really did name him after your father?" "Yes." Tara was amazed at the accuracy of Kevin's guess. He knew her pretty well. "Let's move on to something harder. Why would you coerce me into marrying you when you don't like children?" "I never said I didn't like children. I love Andrew." "Couldn't prove it by the way you treat him." "I love Andrew," he repeated. "But the fact is…he scares me." Kevin felt his throat tighten at the mere mention of his phobia. He'd never admitted it to anyone—not his family or friends, not the shrink who saw him after the shooting, and certainly not Tara. But it was time to admit that the events in Chicago had left him changed. "What do you mean he scares you?" Tara asked, sounding bewildered. "What possible harm could a little baby do to you?" The cruiser sped past the Colorado Springs city limits sign. Kevin realized he didn't have that much time. He had to screw up his courage and tell her what had happened that day. "It's not the harm he could do to me," Kevin said. "It's what I could do to him." Tara shifted uneasily. "You'd better explain." "That night in Chicago when we broke up… You were coming over to tell me you were pregnant—is that right?" "Yes. I tried to ease my way into the subject. But at the mere mention of children, you went ballistic. You said you never wanted children, that the very idea made you nauseous. Do you blame me for not telling you that you were going to be a father?" "No, I guess not. But I wasn't in my right mind that day. Something had happened on my shift, something… Tara, I killed a kid." "What?" For the first time since he'd caught up with her, she didn't sound quite so mad. "A little girl named Marvella White." Kevin waited to see if the name rang a bell with Tara. The story had made the evening news, but in a city that had become numb to killing, the headlines about Marvella had quickly given way to some new tragedy. "Marvella White was that little girl killed by her father," Tara said. "Right? What does that have to do with you?" Kevin gripped the steering wheel harder. "I could have saved her. Instead I let her drugged-up old man blow her away." Tara gasped. She couldn't help it. "You were there?" "I was the first officer on the scene. A neighbor had called, said it was a domestic disturbance. I didn't know till I got there that some crazy S.O.B. was waving a gun, his wife screaming, pleading with him to put it down, two little kids cowering under a table.
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"I called for back-up, but meanwhile I had to do something. So I tried talking to the guy. He said he was going to kill his wife. So I told him to think about his children—did he want them to grow up without a mother? "The guy said, 'Why do I care? They're not my kids.' Then he turned his gun on little Marvella and shot her in the chest, just like that." "Oh my God." Tara had had no idea. Why hadn't he told her what had happened? If she'd known, she would have made some allowances. Instead she'd been focused on her problems. "I subdued the guy, and then I tried to stop Marvella's bleeding." He stopped, swallowed thickly. "She died in my arms." "And you think this was somehow your fault?" "It was my fault, damn it. I didn't know a damn thing about hostage negotiations. I had no business trying to reason with a guy who was high on PCP. All I did was provoke him." "You did what you thought was right at the time. No one can say what he might have done if you hadn't talked to him. He might have killed them all, and you, too." "That was what the board of inquiry said. But tell that to Marvella's mother, and her brother. All I know is when I lost her, I felt responsible. And I never wanted to feel that way again. I never wanted anyone to trust me with a child's life, in any capacity. The responsibility is just too huge."
Chapter Eight Tara did her best to digest what Kevin had told her, to put herself in his place. How horrible, what a nightmare to believe you'd caused the death of a child. No wonder he'd freaked out. "I wish I'd known," she finally said. "Maybe I could have helped." "It's not too late." The words hung in the air, almost tangible, as headlights from the opposite lane of traffic rushed by, illuminating Kevin's face like a strobe. "Kevin," she said, "pull over. I need your undivided attention." He did as she asked. When they were safely out of traffic, she felt she could say what needed to be said. And if she was lucky, Kevin would hear what he needed to hear. "Parenthood is all about fear, and doubt, and sometimes sheer terror. While I was pregnant I agonized over every bite of food I put in my body, frightened I might unwittingly harm the baby inside me. During labor and delivery I was positive something would go wrong. The first time I held Andrew, I was sure I would crush him, or breathe some germ onto him and give him a fatal disease. When my doctor told me we could both go home from the hospital, it was a whole new level of terror. The baby and me, alone? I almost refused to go." "You must have gotten over it, then," Kevin said. "You're as comfortable and natural with that baby as any mother I've ever seen. Once you got over the shock of seeing him in your lap, that is."
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"That's where you're wrong. I'm still scared all the time. Is he going to fall? Catch a cold? Will I feed him something he's allergic to? Will he get stung by a bee? Is he developing normally? Is there some hidden genetic problem? I might fake it better than you, but I'm still scared." "So when does it end? When do you get over being scared?" "From what I hear, you never do." "How do you…how do we live like that?" She didn't miss the change of pronoun. Did she dare hope that he could embrace his responsibility for Andrew? He'd come all this way to stop her from leaving him. That must mean something. "I can live with the fear," she said, "because every time I hold Andrew, or feed him, or bathe him, or see him smile, I know he's worth any discomfort I have to go through. It was kind of like when I was in labor. I thought I was going to die, honestly. I was sure no woman had been through such pain in all of history." Kevin reached out and caressed her cheek. "I wish I'd been there for you." "But as soon as I saw him, all red and wrinkled and screaming his head off, I didn't care about the pain anymore. He's a miracle, and he's worth any trial, any sacrifice." She glanced over her shoulder. Andrew, good baby that he was, slept peacefully in his car seat. "You both are," Kevin said. "Let me try again. I'll do better. I'll come back to Chicago with you. I'll join the force again. And I'll be a better father. I'm teachable." Lord, how could she turn down that earnest face? She'd never seen such raw need in anyone. "I'll have to think about it. For now, could you just take us to the airport? I need to get home." He didn't argue with her. He drove her to the airport. He helped her with her bag. He stood in line at the ticket counter with her, all the while looking like he wanted to burst with an objection. She was afraid to admit to him that she was a bundle of indecision. Whatever she did in the next ten minutes would radically influence the rest of her life. "This line is taking forever," she grumbled. "Will you hold down the fort while I run to the washroom?" He glanced nervously at Andrew, who still dozed in his car seat. She could have sworn he gritted his teeth in determination. "Okay." In the ladies' room, Tara splashed her face with water. Her heart was so full of confusing feelings, she thought it might whirl its way right out of her chest. She loved Kevin. That much was certain. She could forgive his deception, since he'd only done it because he wanted a chance to win her over. But could they really make a life together? As she returned to the line at the ticket counter, she saw something that made her choice incredibly easy. Andrew's car seat was empty. The baby was now in Kevin's arms, snuggled up against one shoulder. Kevin rocked back and forth with him, jiggling slightly, as if he'd been born to fatherhood. He was also talking to the baby, though she couldn't hear what he was saying. He looked a little sheepish when he saw her approaching. "He started to cry. I'm not sure what he wanted, but…"
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"He wanted exactly what you gave him," Tara said with a smile. They'd reached the front of the line, and she went to the next available agent. "I have a reservation, Tara Satterfield," she said. "But I'd also like to make another reservation for next week, Chicago to Colorado Springs. One way." She sneaked a glance at Kevin, who appeared shocked. "You're coming back?" "I'm going to Chicago long enough to pack up my things and tie up a few loose ends. Then I'm coming back here to finish, um, planning my wedding." She wasn't about to drag Kevin to Chicago and make him live there, not now that she'd seen what life in Hardyville was like. It wouldn't be any big sacrifice for her to live there. Shoot, she wanted to. She'd never felt as relaxed and happy as she had over the past two weeks. Kevin's mouth slowly spread into a grin. He rubbed Andrew's back absently as he looked at the ticket agent. "Got any more seats on that flight to Chicago?" He turned back to Tara. "I'm finally getting to know this little guy. I don't want to say goodbye to him now, even for a week." Her heart swelling, she leaned into him and they kissed. A couple of other passengers who had heard the exchange applauded. "Look at you," Tara said when the ticket agent cleared her throat, forcing them to end the kiss. "You've been holding that baby for at least five minutes, and you haven't dropped him even once." Kevin smiled down at Andrew and switched him to the other shoulder. "Yeah, how about that." "It will get easier, Kev, I promise." "It already is." With their tickets in hand, they walked toward security, a real family for the first time.
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Lightning Strikes by Tracy Wolff Willow Rainwater is convinced she will know The One the moment she sees him. They’ll fall instantly in love and he will sweep her off her feet into the sunset—just like the storybook romance her parents had. She knows Mr. Perfect is out there. Not right beside her. Certainly not James McDermott, her best friend for seven years. She’s never felt that way about him. Until one night—one whisper—changes everything.
Chapter One “Go, go, go!” Willow Rainwater screamed as she watched Straight Shot barrel down the final stretch of the Preakness horse race, a whole length ahead of the competition. “Come on, baby! Come on!” Willow was shouting herself hoarse, but she didn’t care. Surrounded by family and friends that were doing the same thing, she was hardly conspicuous. Not that she would have cared if she was. Growing up the daughter of horse-racing royalty pretty much guaranteed her more attention than she could ever want. Besides, Shot could really take this thing. If the mare just kept her head, she could— “Yes!” Willow yelled as the Triple H’s fastest three-year-old crossed the finish line first. “I knew she could do it!” Her older brother swept her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. And perhaps to Rio—who was used to controlling angry and hurt horses with nothing more than his calming voice and brute strength—she did. Rio set her down and she was passed from family member to family member, getting a hug from each of them. She ended up in her father’s arms, and couldn’t help grinning up at him. “I told you, Dad! I told you she was the one.” He smiled indulgently as he kissed her soundly on the head. “That you did, baby girl! That you did!” “Just one more to go,” crowed her mother, Desiree. “And then the Triple Crown will finally be ours.” Finally. Willow felt her stomach clench at her mother’s words, despite the happiness all around her. It was stupid, this uneasiness she felt—particularly since Straight Shot had blown by the competition in both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness without any trouble at all. The Belmont Stakes should be just another walk in the park. And then her family could finally go back to normal once her mother achieved the one professional award that had eluded her and the Triple H ranch for far too long—the Triple Crown. But what if it didn’t happen? a little voice whispered inside of her. What if something happened to Straight Shot the way it had to Crown’s Magic last year? What if the Belmont Stakes wasn’t theirs? What would that do to her parents’ already strained relationship? What would it do— “Now what’s that frown for?” Willow broke out of her thoughts to find her best friend, James McDermott, staring at her with a grimace of his own. “I figure I’m the only one in this box allowed to wear that expression,” he teased as he yanked one of her errant black curls. “Seeing as how I just lost two hundred bucks.”
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Shoving the disturbing state of her parents’ marriage to the back of her mind, Willow smiled up at him. “I kept telling you not to bet against Straight Shot. I told you she was a sure thing.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “I couldn’t very well bet against my uncle’s horse. The family might have disowned me. Besides, I helped train Baby’s Breath.” Willow inclined her head in acknowledgment of just how much truth his words held. She was amazed that they were such good friends since he’d been raised on the second-best Thoroughbred ranch in the country—her family’s being the best. The rivalry between the two ranches was almost legendary. “Then don’t complain,” she continued to tease. “After all, don’t do the crime if—“ “You can’t do the time.” He finished off the ancient cliché with a laugh and a shake of his head. “So, what do you say? Should we go somewhere fabulous to celebrate Straight Shot’s fortuitous win?”
Chapter Two James cursed himself as he realized he was holding his breath while he waited for Willow’s answer—an activity that was made even more stupid by the fact that he already knew what her answer was going to be. No. No, because she had to go out with her family. No, because she didn’t realize what he was asking her. No, because she didn’t feel the same way about him that he had felt about her for far too long. When was he going to learn? he wondered. When was his out-of-control libido going to figure out that Willow only thought of him as a friend, despite the fact that he’d been crazy about her since that very first conversation seven years before? But even though he already knew her answer, it didn’t stop him from hoping. Any more than it got him breathing again. God, he really was pathetic. “I can’t,” she said, voicing the rejection he’d known was coming. “I’ve got to celebrate with the family.” She watched as her parents headed down to the winner’s circle, arms linked and laughter dancing on the air around them. “But you’re welcome to come—if you don’t think your parents would disown you.” His heart jumped at the casual invitation, even as he called himself every name in the book. He was worse than hopeless when it came to Willow. With her dancing black eyes and gorgeous smile she’d been turning him inside out for more years than he cared to admit. He opened his mouth to refuse the invitation, but she must have read his answer in his eyes, because her smile dimmed and the hand on his arm suddenly gripped much more tightly. “Don’t say no, James. Please.” Her voice was whisper-soft, her eyes pleading. “I want you to come.” Her lower lip actually quivered. “I need you to come.” He sighed, exasperated, as he felt the bonds that tied him to her grow even tighter. Sometimes his feelings were pure self-torture—especially when they set what she wanted above what was best for him. He had to stop it, had to either make a move or forget about her once and for all. Staying here in this middle ground, friend but not lover, pal but not soul mate, was killing him. Especially when he wanted so much more. “Sure, I’ll come,” he agreed. “Where and when?” “I don’t know yet.” She grabbed his hand and began pulling him along. “Let’s go down and congratulate Shot. We can ask Mom then.”
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James followed without a protest, even as he promised himself that this was the last time he was going to trail meekly along behind her. Because tonight was going to be different than all the others. Tonight he was going to lay things on the line and find out where he and Willow stood. Tonight he was either going to gain a lover or lose his best friend. His stomach clenched at the thought, even as his heart beat a little faster in anticipation.
Chapter Three Willow glanced nervously around the table as the waiter cleared the dinner dishes away, and wasn’t the least bit surprised when she caught her brother Dakota doing the same thing. Despite Straight Shot’s incredible finish that afternoon, the tension between her parents was suddenly thicker than ever. Though they sat next to each other, neither had so much as looked at the other one all night. It was such a far cry from the way they used to be together that it broke her heart. In the old days, they could barely keep their eyes—or hands—off each other, and they had so much to talk about it was hard to get a word in edgewise. Now…now she was scared. If two people as in love as her parents had been couldn’t make their relationship work, then what hope did she have? Not that there were so many opportunities beating her door down these days. It had been… She thought back and nearly gasped in shocked—it had been nearly ten months since her last date! How could she not have noticed? she wondered. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Shouldn’t she have at least thought about dating at some point in the last few months? But her time was so taken up with the ranch and her family and James that she’d honestly never missed the social interaction. As for sex, well, she couldn’t miss what she hadn’t had. Maybe it was stupid—God knows her friends had ribbed her mercilessly all through college—but she was waiting for the right guy. Her mother had known at fourteen that her father was the one for her, and though they hadn’t got together until Desiree was twentytwo, she’d waited for him. Willow refused to do any less. “What’s wrong?” James’s voice was low and warm as he murmured softly in her ear. “You look like someone killed your cat.” She jumped as shivers unexpectedly skated down her spine. Shock held her transfixed for a moment— James had made her quiver? Glancing at him wide-eyed, she found him looking at her with the same puzzled look that she’d seen only a moment before. Feeling foolish, and more than a little odd, she scooted her chair a little farther away from him. It must have been the vibrations from his breath in her ear that had made her shake. James was her best friend and had been for years. There was no way there was any kind of chemistry between them. She would have felt it years before. Besides, friendship wasn’t what she was looking for. Her father had swept her mother off her feet the moment she’d laid eyes on him. There was no way Willow was settling for anything short of a lightning bolt.
Chapter Four Willow hadn’t answered his question. She had, in fact, scooted her chair away from him as if he had the plague and stared at him like he was an alien who had just revealed his third eye.
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Frustrated—and more nervous than he cared to admit—James leaned forward until his face was only a few inches from hers. “What’s wrong? You look totally freaked out.” “I’m fine.” Her voice was sharper than usual, her eyes more panicked than he’d seen them in a long time. She didn’t look fine. She looked…frightened. “You sure?” He laid a calming hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed at the sudden tension there. But she jerked beneath his hand, her body trembling softly. His eyes narrowed—if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn the fast breathing, darkening eyes and quivering body signaled arousal. But he did know better. He’d spent the better part of seven years looking for just such a reaction from her and never finding it. “Yeah, absolutely.” She ran her hands up and down her arms as if to ward off a chill. “Here.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her bare shoulders. “The air-conditioning’s a little high in here.” If possible, she grew even more nervous. But she clutched the jacket around her like a lifeline. “Thanks.” Unsure of what to make of the stranger sitting where his best friend had been only moments before, he shrugged. “No problem.” All around them people were gathering their things and standing up. “Are you ready to go?” Willow asked, her voice still sounding more than a little funny. “Absolutely.” He stood, too, pulling back her chair for her. “So are you heading back with your parents or would you like to get a drink somewhere? Maybe do a little celebratory dancing?” Silence stretched between them, so long that he was suddenly afraid she wasn’t going to answer him. But finally she said, “Sure, I’d love to go dancing.” “Great.” Though he wanted her for himself, he leaned behind her to tap her brother Rio on the shoulder. “Hey, man, you guys up for a little clubbing?” “Sorry, man. We’re exhausted.” He gestured to his wife, Brooke. “I think we’re just going to go back and get some sleep.” “Me, too,” Dakota added. “But you guys have some fun. Do a tequila shot or two for me.” The table emptied out quickly, and before he was ready for it James found himself staring at Willow, who was gazing back with a bemused smile on her lips. “That was fast,” she said. “It was indeed.” He took her arm, escorting her out of the restaurant as he tried to ignore the pounding in his blood. Maybe this had been a bad idea—how the hell was he supposed to spend the next few hours alone with her, dancing with her, and not rip her clothes off? Already he could feel the smooth satin of her skin beneath his palm, taste the cherry sweetness of her lips against his. “So where do you want to go?” he asked as they began to stroll along the Baltimore waterfront. She shrugged. “I don’t know. You choose.”
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“I know a jazz club a few blocks from here. Unless you’re in the mood for something a little crazier.” He glanced down at her. Willow chose that moment to look up at him and she looked so heartbreakingly beautiful that for a second his heart literally stopped. Clenching his teeth against the need to kiss her, he pulled away and thrust his hands into his pockets in a last-ditch attempt to keep from grabbing her and yanking her against his suddenly very hot, very aroused body. Knowing Willow, she’d probably slap him—and one more rejection from her might be more than he could take. With a grimace, he started walking toward the club, each step a reminder of just how much he stood to gain tonight…or lose.
Chapter Five The club was nothing like she would have expected—and everything she would normally have loved. Small and darkly lit, the slow whine of the saxophone filled the place even as it encouraged patrons to sit down, put their feet up and simply unwind. She wished she could do just that—wished she could simply blank her mind and body of the riot of sensations coursing through her and go back an hour or two when life had seemed so simple. When her relationship with James had made perfect sense and she was completely at ease with him. But she couldn’t. James had felt her tension and was doing whatever he could to put her at ease, but tonight relaxing seemed more impossible than winning the Triple Crown. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but her body was still aroused—her nerves pinging like the counter on an old-time pinball machine. And it was all because of James. She still couldn’t fathom it. How could one whisper in her ear, one warm breath against her cheek, get her to this state? How could it change everything? And nothing? She didn’t know, but she resented the hell out of it nonetheless. This was James, for crying out loud. Her best friend. The guy who had seen her through one crisis in her love life after another. The guy who had held her hair all those years ago when she’d had too much to drink and had been utterly sick. How could her body possibly be thrumming with sexual desire for him? “I see a table through there.” James put his hand on her lower back and she felt the tension in him. Great, her discomfort was rubbing off and making him uncomfortable when all he’d ever tried to do was be her friend. She crossed the room stiffly, sinking into the chair James held out for her with relief. The music was great, but no matter how hard she concentrated on it, she just couldn’t focus. “So, how excited is your mom?” James’s voice broke into her thoughts and she realized he had settled behind her and was looking at her expectantly. “Straight Shot is poised on the brink of taking it all. It must be quite a thrill.” Willow shrugged, her shoulders tightening even more as she remembered the tension between her parents earlier in the night. “There’s no guarantee. We’ve been here before.” She regretted how abrupt her voice
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sounded, but she’d been down this path—they all had—too many times to count on anything until the horse was actually inside the winner’s circle. James reached out, covering her hand with his own. “Last year was a fluke, you know that, right? And lightning never strikes the same spot twice.” “Different horse, different spot.” She cleared her throat and wished the waiter would bring the drinks James had ordered for them. “We’ve just learned to be prepared, that’s all. You know how my mom gets.” He nodded thoughtfully and she could almost see him replaying footage of last year’s debacle in his mind: Desiree’s Fancy falling in the final leg of the race, her mother’s fury that the Triple H had lost the Crown yet again, her father’s concern that the race horse would have to be put down, the heated words and sharp arguments that had rocked the ranch for weeks afterward. How could he expect her to be anything but wary as her worries about the ranch battled with her feelings for him? If he touched her one more time tonight, she just might careen off the edge she was so precariously balanced on.
Chapter Six Willow was shaking. He didn’t know what he’d said to put her so on edge, but he was determined to make up for his misstep. First, because he hated to see her upset and, second, because there was no way he could have the discussion with her when she was so tightly wound up that he feared she would spring at the slightest provocation. Frustrated but determined, James shoved away from the table, extending a hand to her. “Dance with me.” It wasn’t a request, and they both knew it. Their eyes locked and her ebony ones were filled with such confusion that he almost backed down. But this had gone on too long—seven years too long—and he had had enough. So instead of capitulating, instead of making things easy for her, he held her gaze. Ignored the confusion. Stayed the course. And waited for her to choose, even as he prayed that she would choose him, even if it was just for this one dance. Slowly—so slowly that his heart ached—her eyes cleared and the lazy, dreamy smile he’d always loved chased away her frown. “Just don’t step on my feet,” Willow murmured as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “I wouldn’t dare.” He led her onto the postage-stamp dance floor and into his arms. Her body touched his and he closed his eyes in relief, forgetting for one infinitely long moment where they were and what they were supposed to be doing. But then instinct kicked in and he began moving them, swaying her in the same hypnotic rhythm as the blues currently pumping out from the stage. His heart was beating too fast and his breathing was too shallow, but he couldn’t see his way clear to do anything about it. Like a kid in the throes of his first crush, James was totally wrapped up in the woman in his arms, his very being calling out to her.
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The song ended and he didn’t let her go. Another one started—more jazz than blues this time—and he swung her farther out onto the dance floor, watching in delight as Willow threw her head back and laughed, even as her feet kept pace with his. Again and again they danced, through slow songs, fast songs and in-between songs, until his feet hurt and his arousal ached. But he never suggested sitting down, never imagined calling a halt to the sweet torture of holding Willow in his arms after all this time. “This was a great idea!” Willow said as another slow song started and he held her against his body yet again, trying hard to keep her from feeling his body’s uncontrolled response to her nearness. “Thanks for suggesting it.” James nodded, smiling down at her. He didn’t trust himself to speak as desire raked his nerve endings with white-hot claws. “It’s been so long since we danced together that I’d forgotten what a great partner you are.” She reached up and pushed his hair back from his forehead. “You make a girl feel lighter than air.” Later he wouldn’t be able to say what possessed him, wouldn’t have a clue what made him do what he did. He only knew that the touch of her hand on his face, the feel of her fingers combing through his hair, broke down the last of his restraint. Reaching up, he let his hands rest on her cheeks, cupping her delicate pixie face between his large palms. And then, unable to hold back for one second longer, he lowered his head. And kissed her.
Chapter Seven For one long second, Willow was too shocked to move. Then instinct took over, the rush in her blood urging her to kiss James back. Even as her brain screamed out a red alert, even as the words This is James! James! went through her head like a mantra, she couldn’t stop herself. He was so handsome and he tasted so good and he was such a good kisser, she couldn’t help but respond. Respond—hell, it was all she could do to keep from throwing him to the floor and climbing on top of him. It had been a long time since she’d responded like this to a man. Maybe even forever. He tasted like licorice, smelled like the ocean and felt like heaven against her. It took all her control to keep her knees from knocking together, and as the room began to spin she tried to hang on to her sanity. Tried to remember where she was and who she was with. But it was no use. She was drowning in sensation. This is James, her mind screamed at her again, but her body was refusing to pay attention to the warning signals her brain was issuing. Instead she was melting against him, pressing herself against his hard chest and harder thighs until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. His lips were tantalizing. Sweeter than candy, sexier than hell. And she wanted more. With a low moan, she moved her arms up until they were wrapped around James’s neck, molding herself more firmly into him. His lips moved slowly, seductively over hers—not demanding that she yield to him, but rather coercing. And when he sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit gently, she gave in completely as stars exploded behind her closed eyelids.
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She parted her lips with a small exhale, then sighed again as his tongue slipped oh-so-softly inside. As if he was waiting for her to protest. But protesting was the furthest thing from her mind, as her heart pumped in double time and her brain screamed more, more, more. He gave it to her without her having to ask, his tongue sweeping into the recesses of her mouth, tangling with her own before moving deeper to explore. For long moments they stayed like that, arms wrapped around each other, bodies and tongues twisted together in the first moments of sexual awakening. But in the back of her head Willow could still hear that voice, the one warning her that she was skating on very thin ice—and it was about to break. This was James, her best friend. Was she really willing to risk everything they’d meant to each other for what could only be a one-night stand they would both regret in the morning? Her body tried to ignore the S.O.S. her brain was sending, tried to stay wrapped in the arousal and need and oh-so-good feelings swamping every nerve ending she had. But the voice refused to go away; instead it grew louder and louder until it was all she could hear. Until it overrode even the white-hot desire exploding between them. Wrenching her mouth from James’s, Willow stared at him in alarm. What had they done? she wondered as her brain cells finally came back online. What had she done? “I’m sorry,” she said. It was hopelessly inadequate and barely scratched the surface of what she was feeling, but she could think of nothing else to say. It was just too much—the worries about her parents, the fear of losing the Triple Crown, this sudden shift in a relationship she’d thought she could count on forever. Backing away from James as panic surged, she rushed out of the shadows and back to the table they had shared. Grabbing her purse on the fly, she headed for the door of the small club at a dead run. She heard James calling after her, felt him closing in. Spinning, she held out a hand in appeal. “Please, don’t. I need some time to think. I need—” Her voice broke and she didn’t even try to speak again. She simply turned—and fled.
Chapter Eight He’d blown it. James sank down into the cushy desk chair Willow had bought him a few years ago and dropped his head into his hands. He’d known things were moving too fast, had known that he needed to approach his feelings for her logically, carefully. But she’d felt so good in his arms that he had stopped thinking altogether—or at least he’d stopped thinking of all the reasons why kissing her was a bad idea. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret the kiss. Even though she’d run from him and was now refusing to answer or return his phone calls, it was worth it. Because at least now Willow couldn’t hide from how he felt about her any longer. At least she now knew the truth. Oh, who was he kidding? He banged his head on the desk. He’d gone from having Willow as a best friend but dreaming of more, to not having her at all. How could that be better? “Hey, James,” his brother, Craig, called to him from the office door. “Uncle Mike has a horse he wants you to look at.” “Good or bad?” he asked as he filed his worries about Willow into a small space at the back of his brain and tried to focus on the job he loved.
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Craig shrugged. “Good, I think. But Willow’s father passed on him, so there must be something Uncle Mike and I aren’t seeing.” “Maybe.” He headed through the big barn that housed most of the offices for his uncle’s personnel, Craig right on his heels. “But Jesse Rainwater is notoriously picky. Too picky sometimes.” Craig snorted. “Yeah, but he’s the one with all the winners.” The comment made him think back to the conversation he’d had with Willow after the Preakness. He’d said the Triple Crown was a sure thing for Straight Shot and her parents, but her doubts had been almost palpable. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” The look his brother shot him was incredulous. “Who are you kidding? The Triple H just locked up the Derby and the Preakness without breaking a sweat. You know the Belmont Stakes are next.” He shrugged. “Don’t count your chickens…” The fact that his brother merely shook his head and walked away annoyed James all over again. If Willow had been here she would have finished the stupid cliché for him. Then she would have laughed and tossed another, even more stupid, back at him. He shook his head as he stepped through the barn door, squinting against the violently bright Kentucky sunlight. Giving his eyes a minute to adjust, he slowly approached the horse trailer stationed a few hundred feet away. Next to it stood his uncle Mike, owner of the Whistling Winds Thoroughbred ranch and the only boss he’d ever had. “Hey,” he called to his uncle as he approached. “What do you want me to look at?” Mike nodded to the trailer. “This horse. Your girl Willow called me and told me her daddy was wrong to pass on him. She thought we should take a look. And since that girl knows her horseflesh, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” James stiffened in shock as anger began to wind through him. She had time to call his uncle, but not him. Had time to talk about horses, but not their relationship. Willow couldn’t have made her feelings more abundantly clear.
Chapter Nine Willow glanced nervously around her as she drove her car down the long, tree-lined road leading up to Whistling Winds. She didn’t know why she was here exactly, knew only that she needed to see James and put things right. She was the one who had freaked out, after all. The one who had run away from him like he was some crazed murderer. The one who had continually ignored his calls for nearly a week. It had to end. These awkward feelings she had around James had to disappear. He was her best friend and she wanted him back. Just not in that way. Liar, the little voice inside of her said as she brought the car to a stop. You’ve never felt anything like what you felt when he kissed you the other night. How could you possibly want those glorious feelings to go away?
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But he wasn’t The One, she reminded herself firmly. Reaching for her purse, she let her hand coast over the bright blue journal inside, the one that had been her mother’s since she’d been twenty-two years old. She clasped her fingers tightly around the binding and waited for the sense of calm—the sense of rightness— that holding it always brought her. It didn’t come. Panic raced through her and she squeezed more tightly. Tried desperately to focus. This was her mother’s love story, the love story Willow had always thought she would have one day. Desiree had known from the moment she’d laid eyes on Jesse that he was the one for her, and despite the problems of the last few years, no one had ever doubted they belonged together. Willow wanted a love like that, one where she was instantly swept off her feet. One where she knew—body and soul—that this was the right man for her. James wasn’t that man. Couldn’t be that man. They’d been friends for almost a decade and not once had she felt a spark between them. Liar, the little voice said again as she unsteadily approached the work barn where James had an office. You felt a spark with him last week. Hell, when he’d kissed her she could have lit up the entire club with the electricity pumping between the two of them. But that had been seven years too late. Things couldn’t change now—they just couldn’t. Getting involved with James would just complicate things, screw up their friendship and their feelings. And when the man she was actually destined to be with showed up, it would be messy. Really messy. And she couldn’t stand that. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for the strength to set things right between them. But as she started down the hallway, she crashed into a huge male chest. Sparks sizzled down her spine, her nerve endings tingled and heat arced through her body so fast that the breath she’d taken fizzled in her chest. What was going on? she wondered breathlessly as she opened her eyes. Had she finally found the man she’d been looking for? But as she tilted her head up, she realized she was staring into James’s astonished—and astonishing—blue eyes. Her stomach dropped to her toes. Things were so much worse than she’d thought.
Chapter Ten Willow was here! He couldn’t believe it—he’d been on his way to pack a bag so that he could go see her and tell her how ridiculous she was being. But he hadn’t had to do that. She had come to him. “Willow!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her and giving her the big hug he always did when he first saw her. She didn’t pull away, but her body was stiff against his, and again he cursed whatever impulse had made him kiss her before he’d had a chance to explain his feelings for her. To gauge her feelings for him. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he reluctantly let her go.
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She shrugged and looked away, as if she couldn’t bear to face him. “I don’t know. I just thought I’d come—” Her voice broke and he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into his arms. But one look at her face told him that wasn’t the right way to handle things. He’d have to tread delicately through the sudden minefield between them, though what he really wanted to do was run over it, blast through it, annihilate it with whatever weapon he needed to make things go back to the way they had been. But that wasn’t precisely true, he realized, as he ushered Willow out of the building. Yes, things were awkward now, but he’d been waiting for seven years to get to this point. Maybe it was time to get things out in the open. She seemed to relax a little when they got outside and were surrounded by all the accoutrements it took to run a Thoroughbred ranch—the stables, the exercise circles, the racing track. “Thanks for sending that horse our way,” he said to fill the silence that stretched between them. “Oh, isn’t he fabulous?” she asked, excitement sparking in those black eyes. “Did you buy him?” “Sure did—and I think he’s going to do this ranch proud in another eighteen months.” “That’s what I tried to tell Dad, but he wouldn’t listen. I swear he still thinks I’m a little girl who doesn’t understand the difference between a racehorse and a child’s pony.” He tugged at the ponytail she had her hair swept into—her usual style. “Maybe because you still don’t look more than twelve.” She eyed him archly. “What exactly does that say about you, then? Since you kissed someone you say looks like a preteen?”
Chapter Eleven As soon as the words escaped, Willow wanted them back. Would have done anything to get them back. But it was too late—James’s eyes darkened, the hand still wrapped around her ponytail tightening ever so slightly. She willed him to ignore her words, to make a joke of them, to laugh them off—to do anything and everything but stare at her with that serious, intent look on his face. The one that meant she wasn’t going to be able to wheedle out of this conversation, no matter how hard she tried. “About that,” he said, slowly uncurling his fingers from her hair. “I—” “I’m sorry I overreacted,” she blurted out. “It was stupid, running away like that. I know it was just a congratulatory kiss—” His raised eyebrows stopped her little rehearsed speech cold. “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”
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“Well, what else could it be?” “Basic, old-fashioned lust, perhaps? A strong and overwhelming desire to have you naked beneath me?” James’s words froze everything inside her and had her gasping for oxygen like a guppy in the middle of the Sahara. “You don’t mean that,” she said when she could finally speak. “The hell I don’t.” And then he was pushing her back against the corral fence, his strong, hard body touching her from chest to thighs. She felt her heartbeat speed up and her knees quiver, and tried desperately to hang on to rational thought. “What are you doing?” she demanded, as she pressed her hands against his heavily muscled chest. Her voice wasn’t as strong as she would have liked, but at least it came out and didn’t squeak. Much. James grinned at her wickedly and she knew he’d heard the squeak. That was just one of the problems that came with suddenly being overwhelmingly attracted to her best friend; he knew her inside out, knew exactly what it meant when her voice squeaked and she couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I thought that would be self-explanatory.” He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, applying just enough pressure so that she couldn’t help but lift her head until their eyes met. “This is a bad idea.” She wanted to sound firm, but was way too breathless to get away with it. “I beg to differ. I think it’s the best idea we’ve had in a long time.” “James!” She braced her hands on his chest and tried to shove, but he was having none of it. And as his lips descended slowly—so slowly that she thought she might actually go insane— she couldn’t fight the crazy heat flooding her body, any more than she could deny that she wanted this at least as much as James did. It might be a supremely bad idea for any number of reasons, but as their lips finally touched, Willow realized that she just didn’t give a damn.
Chapter Twelve She tasted like sunshine. And milk chocolate. And the honeysuckle flowers he used to gobble down by the bucketful as a child. Only sweeter and more delicious. Infinitely more delicious. Tilting her head back, James slipped his tongue along her bottom lip, savoring the utter rightness of having Willow in his arms again. He traced it over her upper lip, stopping to play with the little indention in the middle—the one that had given him more than a few sleepless nights through the years. She moaned softly, the sound he’d been waiting for. He drew her more tightly into him—so tightly that he could feel her pebbled nipples against his chest despite the layers of cloth separating them. He dived in and would have sworn that he’d found heaven.
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Her tongue met his instantly, teasing and tangling and testing. Meeting him stroke for stroke until it was all he could do to keep from taking her where they stood. But this was Willow, he reminded himself as his fingers trailed down her throat, feeling the pulse that pounded there like a million drumbeats. He had to take it slow, make it sweet. She deserved that, and so did he after waiting so long to finally have her. As he delved deeper, his tongue stroking over her soft palette, he felt the ground shift beneath him, as if all that was steady and understandable in the world had suddenly been readjusted. His body flamed to life, a bone-jarring need raking through him with quicksilver claws. He wanted to devour her, to hold her so close to him that she could never get away. To sink so deeply inside of her that she could never get him out. To become a part of her body, her mind, her soul—the way she already was for him. Need slammed through him at the thought and his hands fisted in her hair, pulling her even closer. Gentle persuasion changed to domination in a second. He was too strung out to coax her, too hungry for her to take things slowly. He wanted Willow. Needed her with a desperation that bordered on addiction. And he would have her. Here. Now. This minute. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue a wild invasion that couldn’t be denied. A claiming that couldn’t be mistaken. Willow responded, her body soft and pliant and desperately needy against his. Her hands clutched at his chest, her fingers tangling in the brushed cotton of his shirt as she whimpered low in her throat. It was the sound that did it. That low, out-of-control-and-frightened-of-it moan that made him put the brakes on when only moments before he would have sworn it was impossible. Pulling back, he kept Willow fully entrenched in his arms as he drew a few deep, shuddering breaths into his lungs and tried to regain some semblance of control. “Why’d you stop?” she demanded, her hands curling so hard on his chest that he swore she drew blood. The eyes staring up at him were black as sin and just as tempting. He felt his good intentions going down the drain, but was determined to give her a chance to stop things—even if it killed him. Watching her with intent eyes, determined not to miss a flicker of expression, he murmured softly, “Do you want to go upstairs?” Long seconds ticked by as they watched each other. Her lower lip trembled and he started to pull away, to call a halt. But Willow clenched her hands, holding him in place. And she whispered, “Yes.” “Are you sure?” He held his breath as he waited again for her answer. This time he didn’t have long to wait. “Yes,” she whispered again, leaning forward to lick a fiery trail down his neck. It was all he needed to hear.
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Chapter Thirteen Nerves assaulted Willow as James ushered her into his apartment over the breeding stables. Though she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, she was suddenly uncertain. This would change everything. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” she gasped as his hands ran over her body like he owned it. Her libido screamed at her to shut up, to take whatever James was offering and worry about the consequences later. But her mind wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t let it go. “James—“ She pressed a hand to his chest and tried to ignore the feel of his lips racing over her cheek and down her neck. Shivers of excitement and fear and—yes, all-consuming lust—surged through her, but she tried desperately to think around them anyway. “Maybe we should think about this,” she said, turning her head in a last-ditch effort to act rationally. “I don’t need to think about it,” James answered, his hands skimming lightly down her body and leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. “I’ve been thinking about it for seven years.” His mouth lingered at the hollow of her throat and her eyes nearly crossed as her desire ramped up about seven notches. “Well, I haven’t!” Trying to regain some semblance of control, she clapped a hand over his dangerous, dangerous mouth and shoved him away. Of course, that left her staring directly into his wicked blue eyes, eyes that shone with his need—and concern—for her. Her resistance started to melt, but she tried to stand firm, to get control of what was happening between them before it was too late. She’d held on to her virginity, hoping to give it to the only man she would ever love. Was she really just going to throw it all away now because she wanted James with a need that bordered on madness? “Don’t tell me this is wrong, Willow.” His voice was low, commanding. “I’ve waited too long to touch you like this, to taste you and feel you and hold you.” “James—“ She couldn’t stop herself from pleading with him, from begging for things to go back to the way they were. Not because she didn’t like where they were heading—but because she liked it too much. “Let me make you feel good, Willow. Just that.” His hands swept down her spine, finding erogenous zone after erogenous zone that she’d had no idea existed. “It doesn’t have to go any further than that.” At least not yet. She heard the unspoken words as clearly as if he’d shouted them. But the pleasure he was giving her was insidious, her need to feel his mouth on her naked skin growing with each second that passed. With a sigh, she yielded completely. His hands became gentler, less demanding, as they swept down her back, up her stomach, over her breasts. Calming her nerves even as he stoked the heat of her desire. “James…” It wasn’t a protest this time, but a plea. A demand for more. For everything.
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“I’ve got you, love.” He murmured the words against her throat as his hands deftly undid the buttons of her blouse. “I’ll take care of you.” As his lips skimmed tenderly down her neck to her aching breasts, Willow gave herself up to the whirlwind of desire James called so effortlessly from her.
Chapter Fourteen James made sure his hands were tender as he slipped Willow’s clothes from her body. Made sure his movements were slow and sweet. But what he really wanted to do was to pillage. To plunder. To sink inside of her so deeply she would never get him out. But this was her first time. He knew that as he knew so many other things about her. Like her favorite color and what bands she listened to—even what brand of underwear she wore wasn’t a secret from him. Seven years of friendship had given him a direct line to Willow’s soul and he would not make a misstep now, not when everything he’d ever wanted was on the line. Grazing his hands over her peaches-and-cream skin, he paused for a moment at her breasts before lowering his head and taking her nipple in his mouth. He kept everything languid and easy, even as desire slammed through him. This was Willow, he reminded himself for the millionth time, and he would rather die than hurt her. “James.” Her voice was low and breathless, her hands uncertain as they tangled in his hair. “It’s okay, love,” he murmured in between each small, tender scrape of his teeth over her soft skin. “I’m right here.” Moving downward, so slowly that each breath brought him to the edge of his control, he explored her body, leaving no part untouched, no patch of skin, however small, unkissed. Willow cried out as James glided his lips over her rib cage and belly. His tongue stroked and caressed, teased and tantalized until she could think of nothing and no one but him. Until this moment was more important to her than breathing. He continued his sweet assault over and over until she couldn’t take it for one more second. “James!” It was a whimper, a plea, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting this man—this wicked, wonderful man—inside of her as quickly as possible. And then he was there, sliding into her so gently, so smoothly that it was like they’d done this a million times before. Even as new sensations barraged her, even as the feeling of being stretched beyond her limits swept through her and she felt the fragile barrier break, she wanted more. Wanted everything. He gave it to her, his body moving over hers in long, silky strokes that sent pleasure coursing through every nerve ending she had. Tension spiraled higher and higher within her, a tightening of her body that would have frightened her if James hadn’t been there, holding her, soothing her, taking her even higher. She shattered with a scream, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Using him as an anchor to keep her pulsing body from spinning off into space.
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Chapter Fifteen Willow was beautiful when she slept. Her curly black hair was fanned out on the pillow around her and her cherry-red lips—swollen from his kisses—glistened invitingly. Though he told himself that he’d worn her out, that she needed her rest, James couldn’t stop himself from running a hand down her smooth, creamy-white shoulder. She sighed, then turned toward him, her body moving restlessly as if even in sleep she wanted to be connected to him. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, the first dim rays of sunlight leaking in through his bedroom window. Normally he was up by now checking on the horses, but today he was content to simply lie here and watch this woman he cared so deeply for. She stirred again, mumbled something unintelligible. And his heart kicked into high gear. What was he going to say to her? What could he say? He’d rushed things, had done the exact opposite of his plan. He’d wanted to talk to her first, to let her know how he felt. Instead he’d hurried her into bed without giving her a clue as to what he was thinking. Half of him wanted to wake Willow up now, to make love to her again and again until he had bound her to him so completely that she wouldn’t even think about leaving him. The other half wished that she would sleep longer, that the peace he felt as he lay next to her would go on forever. But the decision was taken out of his hands when Willow’s eyes blinked sleepily open, their onyx depths more than a little disoriented. Her lips quirked into a smile so small he might have imagined it as she reached up and rubbed at the tense lines between his eyebrows. “Why so serious?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep and sex. Her casual tone set his instincts on red alert, even as his body responded to the sleepy interest in her eyes. “I was afraid you’d think we’d made a mistake.” She did smile then, a crooked arch of her lips that had him sliding even more deeply in love with her. “It was the most fabulous night of my life. How could I possibly think it was a mistake?” He felt the tension leak out of every muscle in his body in relief and joy. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” He gathered her into him, nuzzling her neck in an effort to soak in more of her honeyed sweetness. “I was afraid there’d be a big scene this morning, that you wouldn’t understand what had happened.” Willow stiffened slightly against him, so slightly that he might not have noticed if he hadn’t been tuned in to her every movement.
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“Do I look like the type to make a scene?” she demanded, pulling away from him. Her eyes were alight with laughter, and her smile had turned into a full-fledged grin, but he was still worried. “You look exactly like that type,” he answered as he tugged on one of her many curls. “You forget I’ve known you for a long, long time.” “Yeah, well, they say you never really know someone until you wake up with them in the morning.” She sat up and stretched, the sheet falling away from her breasts as she did so. Arousal pumped through him, and he reached for her, suddenly desperate to be inside of her again. But she only laughed and leaped out of bed, grabbing the comforter as she went. “Oh, no, I’m not going there again. At least not right now.” He studied her nude body before she hid it with the blanket, and wondered just what it would take to get her back into bed. As if she’d read his mind, Willow threw back her head and laughed. “You need to feed me,” she said. “I’m starving.”
Chapter Sixteen He was afraid she’d create a scene? That she wouldn’t understand this was just for one night? Willow sat on one of James’s kitchen chairs, his comforter still around her, and silently fumed, though she kept a playful smile on her lips. Did he actually think he was that good? So good that she’d forget pride and friendship and act like a clingy little girl? Ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her just how good he really was, Willow sipped her coffee and concentrated on keeping her mad up. It wasn’t hard when she remembered how soft and dreamy she’d been when she’d awoken, how close she’d come to creating that scene James had been afraid of. He’d been looking so serious, with his grim mouth and those crazy frown lines between his eyes, that she’d wanted to pull him into her arms and kiss all his concerns away. She’d started to do just that when he’d blindsided her with his little speech about making scenes. Refusing to be placated, she smiled sweetly at him as he slid a plate of scrambled eggs and toast onto the table in front of her. She continued to smile as she took her first bite and contemplated the best way to murder him. “I wanted to talk about what happened last night,” he began. “You were great. I mean, really great,” she said as she lifted her coffee cup to her mouth yet again. His eyebrows lowered, his sapphire eyes turning stormy. “I’m sorry?” “Oh, there’s nothing to apologize for. It was fabulous.” “What exactly does that mean?”
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“It means I had a really good time.” She could almost hear his teeth grind together, and the frown lines came back with a vengeance. “What’s going on here, Willow?” She swallowed the quick lump in her throat, forced herself to meet his eyes despite the hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You’re acting very strangely.” He studied her with suspicious eyes. “No, I’m not.” She pushed away from the table, leaving most of the food on her plate uneaten. “I’m going to go take a shower.” She arched a brow and pursed her lips. Did everything in her power to look unconcerned. “Would you care to join me?” “I thought we were going to talk.” He followed her down the narrow hall to his bedroom. “Last night—“ “We can talk later.” It took every ounce of willpower she had to drop the comforter onto the floor and stride, naked, into the bathroom. “Are you coming?” she called, even as she prayed that he would decline. She couldn’t keep this up much longer, couldn’t pretend that what had happened between them hadn’t mattered to her. She’d given him everything—her hopes, her dreams, her virginity—only to have them tossed back in her face. But she would rather die than create that scene James was so afraid of. He’d stripped her of all her control last night, over and over again. She’d be damned if she handed him her pride, too. The phone rang before he could answer her invitation, but he didn’t move from his place in the bathroom doorway. “Are you going to get that?” “No.” He stripped off the T-shirt he’d pulled on that morning, stalking toward her as he did so. “It could be important.” “Not as important as this.” He unbuttoned his worn jeans and her heartbeat doubled. Her plan had backfired and she didn’t know how to handle this new turn of events. Could she keep up the amused distance if he actually climbed in the shower with her? If he wanted to make love again? The phone stopped as suddenly as it had started and the unexpected silence was deafening. Then his cell phone began to ring from its spot on the dresser. James cursed and stalked back toward the bedroom. “Don’t go anywhere,” he shot over his shoulder. Where exactly did he think she was going to go stark naked?
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Chapter Seventeen In the end it was James who had had to leave. One of the ranch’s prized two-year-olds was sick and his uncle had left on a buying trip, leaving James in charge of handling any problems on the ranch. Trevor, the head trainer, had already called for the vet, but James had felt honor-bound to stay with Flight of Fancy until they found out what was wrong with the horse. Of course, by the time he’d got back to the apartment Willow was gone. That had been three days ago and he was still so angry he could barely speak. He sure as hell didn’t trust himself to call her up and have an intelligent conversation with her. Not when all he could think of was how empty he had felt when he’d found her missing. “Hey, son, what’s that long face for?” His uncle Mike’s voice broke into his reverie, and he tried to bring his rampaging thoughts under control. He had work to do and sitting here brooding about Willow wasn’t going to get any of it done. “I’m cool,” he said as he tried unsuccessfully to focus on the paperwork in front of him. His uncle snorted. “James, there are a lot of words for how you look right now. Cool isn’t one of them.” After sitting across the desk from him, Mike said, “You got woman trouble?” James stiffened in spite of himself, knowing doing so had told his uncle everything he wanted to know. “I don’t know.” “Women and whiskey are the only two things I know that can make a man with a job look that miserable. And I know you haven’t been drinking, so what’s up? You and Willow have a fight or something?” “How’d you know about Willow?” he asked, so astonished that he blurted the question out before he could think better of it. “You’ve been mooning over that girl for years. And I saw how she looked at you when she was here the other day.” “How was that?” “Like she was an alcoholic and you were a shot of hundred-dollar bourbon.” “So why’d she leave, then?” he asked, giving up the pretense. His uncle shook his head. “Son, women are fearsome and mysterious creatures. The man who figures out why one does something is the man who’ll hold the key to the universe.” James considered his uncle’s words for a few moments then asked the question that had been in his head for three long days. “So what should I do?”
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Mike grinned. “It’s more than obvious you won’t be happy without her. So go get the girl!”
Chapter Eighteen Willow stared morosely at her reflection as she tried to work up the energy to care about something. Anything. Since she’d snuck out of James’s apartment five days before, all she’d been able to do was think about him. It was embarrassing, really. Especially considering she’d never even thought of sleeping with him before last week. With a sigh, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe she could go riding; her horse, Penelope, always cheered her up. Reaching into her purse for a piece of gum, her hand struck something hard and she pulled it out curiously. She winced when she saw what it was. Her mother’s journal. The one she’d pored over for nearly a decade, hoping, praying to fall in love at first sight just as her parents had done. The one that had inspired her to save herself for The One. She snorted. What a joke that was. Not only had she not fallen in love with a handsome stranger, she was sitting around moping over her best friend and their one-night stand. How far from romantic could she get? Suddenly unable to bear the sight of the journal—and all the shattered hopes it represented— she headed down the hall to her parents’ room. Her mom was out on the ranch, as usual, and her dad was in the middle of preparing for the Belmont Stakes. No one would be around to witness her folly as she replaced the book. Or so she thought. As she was sliding the book onto its spot on the shelf, her mother’s voice sounded from behind her. “Hey, sweetie. Do you need something?” Jumping guiltily, she turned to see her mother coming from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. “You’re getting a late start,” she said to her mother. Desiree sighed. “Your dad and I were up all night—Straight Shot is sick. She seems better this morning, but they don’t think she’ll be well enough for the Belmont.” “Oh, no!” “There’ll be other chances.” Her mom crossed the room and laid a hand on Willow’s cheek. “What I’m really worried about is you—you’re not looking so good. Care to tell me about it?” Willow debated for a second, wondering just how much she wanted to tell her mother. But in the end she didn’t have to say a word, as Desiree asked, “What happened with James?” “How did you—“ Desiree’s smile was sad. “That man has been crazy about you for the better part of a decade. At first I thought you were stringing him along, and then I realized you really didn’t have a clue.”
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“That’s not true. He’s my friend.” “He is, yes. But he wants to be a lot more than that. Besides, there’s a lot to be said for a relationship based on friendship.” “It wasn’t like that for you and Daddy. I always thought I’d be like you—“ “Of course it was like that for your father and me. I may have known the second I saw him that he was for me, but we spent six years as friends before anything ever happened between us.” “Yeah, but…“ Her voice trailed off. “But what?” “I don’t even know if I’m in love with James!” she wailed. Desiree laughed again, even as she pulled Willow into her arms. “From what I’ve seen, you can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do anything but mope around and think about whatever it is that went wrong between the two of you. I think that’s a pretty good clue that what you’re feeling is more than friendship.” Her mother was right, Willow realized. But the thought did nothing to reassure her. What was she going to do now?
Chapter Nineteen James stood on the doorstep staring at Willow’s father and for the first time in seven years he had trouble meeting the man’s eyes. All he could think about was what he’d been doing with the man’s daughter less than a week before—and how she’d walked away from him before he could make things right. The small jewelry box in his left front pocket was practically burning a hole right through him, and he couldn’t help feeling like his intentions were written all over his face. From the amusement on Jesse’s face, some small sign of his discomfort must have been obvious. “Willow’s down at the lake,” Jesse volunteered after they’d exchanged pleasantries. “You’re welcome to come in and wait for her.” Everything inside of him sank. He’d been working himself up to this moment for three days and the idea of putting it off was completely repugnant to him. Not to mention the fact that he was just uncertain enough of her reaction that he might change his mind before Willow got back. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to head out there. I know the way.” Jesse’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t comment. Instead he asked, “You want to borrow a horse?” “Absolutely.”
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Thirty minutes later, he pulled the huge brown stallion Jesse had lent him to a stop in front of the lake he and Willow had swam in more times than he could count. She was in the water, swimming as if the demons of hell were on her heels. He watched her for long moments, admiring how her sleek body cut through the water even as the sight of her made him ache. He wanted to join her, to pull her into his arms and hold on until she couldn’t say no. Until she felt even half of the intense, riotous emotions bouncing around inside of him. But he didn’t move. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to startle her, but deep inside he knew the truth. He was scared—scared of her not believing him, scared of her rejection. Scared of her not wanting him the way he needed her. It was the fear that pissed him off. He strode into the water in his jeans and boots, grabbing Willow as she swam by. “James!” she gasped as he wrenched her to her feet. “What are you doing here?” She was sexy as hell standing there in her black bikini, water running in rivulets over every inch of her glorious, half-naked body. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, to make love to her, to demand that she never leave him again. “You left.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He cursed himself for his weakness, but held his breath anyway as he waited for her answer. “I thought that’s what you wanted. You said you didn’t want a scene.” The words were so absurd, so far removed from what he’d braced himself to hear, that he snarled. Willow’s eyes widened in shock. Good, it was about time she finally realized who she was dealing with.
Chapter Twenty Willow’s heartbeat raced as she stared at James, willing him to take her in his arms. To tell her how much he had missed her. When he did neither of those things and instead snarled at her like a rabid animal, she felt anger ripping through her. It chased away her caution, her fear of getting hurt, even the pride she’d been so determined to hang on to. And left behind a fury so all-consuming that it was all she could do to keep from going for his eyes. “Don’t you snarl at me like some kind of animal! You’re the one who slept with me and then all but kicked me out the next morning.” “Kicked you out?” he demanded incredulously. “I wanted to talk about things. You’re the one who started spouting crap at me. ‘You were fabulous, James. Thanks so much!’ I wanted to strangle you.” “What did you want me to say? ‘Oh, James, I love you so much’? Give me a break!”
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He stiffened, the hands still grasping her upper arms falling away as he stumbled back a step. He looked like she’d slapped him. “That’s what I was trying to say to you,” he said through bloodless lips. “But you didn’t want to hear it. At least now I know why.” He turned away, wading back to shore and it was her turn to stare at him, dumbfounded. And then she took off after him, running awkwardly through the water as she struggled to catch up. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked as she finally got close enough to grab his hand. He tried to shrug her off, but she refused to let go. “Don’t worry about it.” “James, look at me.” She held her breath, willed him to turn around. When he did, she was shocked by the hurt he didn’t even try to hide. “What are you saying?” “How can you be so blind?” he raged. “I’ve been in love with you for seven years, but nothing I’ve done has made any difference. I’ve tried to be your friend, to take it slow. To give you a chance to get used to the idea. And when you finally notice me, when something finally happens between us, you sneak off like you’re ashamed of having let me touch you.” She was horrified by the pain in his voice, by the truth she heard in it. “I thought you didn’t want me.” “How could you possibly imagine, even for a second, that I didn’t want you? The whole damn world knows how I feel about you. I tried to tell you—to show you—what I felt when we made love. How could you not feel it?” “I—I don’t know.” She crushed herself against him, prayed that he wouldn’t reject what she wanted so desperately to give him. Hope moved through her, carrying with it an aching vulnerability as she laid herself open to him. “I was stupid.” Though he stiffened, his arms came around her waist and held her to him. “Yes, you were.” She smiled as she felt him rest his chin on the top of her head, all the doubts and concerns and nerves slowly leaving her. “I love you, too, you know.” He pulled away, stared deeply into her eyes. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” “Oh, I mean it, all right. For a while, I was just too myopic to see it.” He studied her for long moments, his eyes searching her face for reassurance. It made her realize, for the first time, just how insecure she’d made him with her blindness and disappearing acts. “It’s true.” She reached up and trailed kisses down his throat. “I love you more than I ever thought possible.” “Thank God.” He shuddered as he tilted her chin up so that he could kiss her. Long moments passed as his lips moved tenderly over hers and she whimpered when he pulled away.
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“Don’t stop…” She clutched at his shoulders, tried to bring his mouth back to hers. “You’re going to marry me.” His voice was firm as he reached into his front pocket. Willow felt tears bloom in her eyes, happy tears that came with the knowledge that all her dreams were about to come true. But still, it had sounded too much like an order for her to let him get away with it. “I believe it’s customary to ask,” she said in her haughtiest voice. He snorted. “With a reasonable woman, maybe. With you, we’ll do it my way.” She lifted an inquiring brow. “And how is that?” He grabbed her hand, taking the ring out of the box and sliding a sparkling diamond down her ring finger without so much as glancing at her for permission. “Like this.” As his lips once again met hers, Willow gave up the fight. It was hard to argue with a man who knew her—and what she wanted—better than she knew herself. A man who could recognize what it felt like when lightning strikes.
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The Ledoux Curse by Debra Cowan In 1688, a jealous French nobleman cursed the Ledoux family—if a Ledoux woman fell in love with a man, he would die, damning her to a life of loneliness and guilt. Despite her mother and grandmother’s warnings, Aubrey never believed in the curse. Until she fell in love with Jeff Wyrick. Until Hallowe'en night five years ago. After that horrible night, Aubrey pushed Jeff away, vowing never to see him again or admit her feelings, even to herself. Even when he appears on her doorstep with those chiseled features and eyes that melt her resistance. But Jeff didn’t come back for a meaningless night with Aubrey—he came back for a lifetime. And he’s willing to risk everything, including his life, to be with her. But first they must break The Ledoux Curse.
Chapter One Aubrey Ledoux stared down at the blunt-boned masculine face that had appeared on her sketch paper— again—and threw the pad across the sunroom. It was two days before Hallowe’en. Every year at this time, she was jumpy, like she was plugged into an electrical socket. The air was thicker, alive, as though some dormant force inside the earth had been stirred up and unleashed. But this year had been worse. So far every day in October, no matter what her subject, his face appeared in each drawing or painting she’d done. A face that brought back all the guilt, the pain, the aching resignation. They would never be together—and she was the reason why. Or rather, the curse was. In 1688, her ancestor, Genevieve Ledoux, had refused to marry a cruel French nobleman. Because of her rejection, the man used his dark skills as a magician to curse her and every woman in her family for eternity. If Charles Villeroy couldn’t have the woman he loved, then no Ledoux woman would ever have the man she loved. The Ledoux line had continued through the centuries because the women had spent their lives with men they didn’t love. Aubrey’s grandmother had married her grandfather after knowing him only two days. It wasn’t until after Aubrey’s mother was born that Grandmama had fallen for Granddad. Within twenty-four hours of her confessing her feelings, he was dead. Aubrey’s mother and father had married because she became pregnant. On Aubrey’s second birthday, her mother admitted to her husband that she was in love with him. He died the same night. Growing up, Aubrey hadn’t believed her father and grandfather had died as a result of cursed love, as she’d been told her whole life. Instead, she believed that they had walked away from their families, abandoned them, because they couldn’t handle her eccentric mother and grandmother, and that had been too humiliating for Mama and Grandmama to acknowledge. She knew better now. Five years ago, she had thumbed her nose at the ridiculous notion of a curse—and the man she loved had nearly paid with his life for her defiance. She had learned the horrid truth. The Ledoux Curse was real, and it was deadly. She hadn’t been in love since and she never would be again.
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She swallowed back the regret, the longing for what would never be. It was done. Nothing could change that. She could only be thankful that she’d recognized the truth in time to save him. Usually, she managed not to think about him. She was especially careful the week of Hallowe’en. So why was his face showing up in every piece of art she created? It made her hurt. It made her wish for things that could never be. Hallowe’en was a bitter reminder of what they’d lost, but Jeff had come out of it alive. That was the only thing that mattered. She decided to put away her paints for awhile and figure the taxes for one of her accounting clients. Working with numbers wouldn’t take an emotional bite out of her soul, and it would help get her mind off the past, off of him. Half an hour later, she had sat down at her kitchen table with a shoebox of receipts when her doorbell rang. She went to answer it, welcoming any distraction. She opened the door and her jaw dropped as she stared at all six-foot, four inches of her past. Jeff Wyrick. That hot blue gaze did a slow hike down her body. “Hi, Aubrey Lynn.” “Jeff,” she breathed, curling her fingers around the door frame, partly to keep from falling and partly so she wouldn’t reach for him. He looked so good. A big man with a big heart, he had wide shoulders and a brawny chest covered with hair a shade shy of black, just like that on his head. His blue eyes could melt stone and his mouth was…deliciously wicked. Her heart started pounding so hard she couldn’t get a full breath. For two seconds, she let herself feel the joy at seeing him, the want. It had been a long time. Five years had put new lines around his eyes and a shadow of stubble emphasized a jaw that was hard-edged now. She went soft inside. Get real, she ordered herself. “You shouldn’t be here.” “I needed to see you.” The words were raspy, as if he was a lifelong smoker. But he’d never smoked a day in his life. His husky voice was caused by damaged vocal cords, thanks to her and the curse. “That isn’t a good idea.” “I’m not leaving.” “Didn't you learn anything the last time we were together?” she pleaded, though she recognized the unyielding hardness in his blue eyes. “Wasn’t that enough for you?” “I didn’t get enough of you. I plan to change that.” “No. Not after what happened.” Memories of them by the lake that night, of Jeff being strangled, flashed through her mind. She would never be able to erase the image of those handprints around his throat, invisible hands squeezing the life out of him. The bruises were gone now, but that night had left behind plenty of wounds. “Aubrey, I need to talk to you.” “Go away, Jeff.” Please go away. She tried to shut the door and he jammed his boot inside to keep it open. “Invite me in or don’t. Either way, I’m not leaving.”
***
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He drank her in. The silken waterfall of inky black hair, the high cheekbones and dark coloring of her partNative American heritage, her sapphire blue eyes, now wild with panic. He’d touched and tasted every inch of her sleek curves and he hadn’t forgotten a single thing. He knew she was afraid but he wasn’t going to let her run him off this time. “Are you going to let me come in?” “It’s not a good idea,” she repeated. “It’s important, Aubrey.” He understood the uncertainty darkening her eyes, the flicker of apprehension there. It twisted something deep inside him. “Please.” Plainly reluctant, she stepped back and he moved inside. But getting in wasn’t the hard part. He’d seen how devastated she’d been the night she’d witnessed his attempted murder and had sworn to send him away. She wouldn’t be receptive to what he had to say now. She closed the door and he followed her into the living area, his gaze skimming over her nipped-in waist, her fine backside. Beyond the living room, still done in the same peach-and-cream tones, was a sunroom. Canvases were stacked in the corner. Judging by the paints and brushes placed neatly on a small table next to an easel, she still worked there. The only thing out of place was a sketchpad on the floor. She turned to him. “Well?” Inhaling her spring-fresh scent, his eyes rested on her soft lips, drawn tight with irritation, then moved to the small hands that had raced over him that night, so careful of his bruised throat. Five years worth of hunger slammed into him. “You look good.” “So do you.” She moved stiffly across the room and stood behind an oversized dark-leather chair. His chest squeezed tight at the distance she put between them. “I got an apartment in Oklahoma City. I’m home to stay.” “That’s good. It probably made your parents and brother very happy.” “It did.” Since he and Aubrey had broken up five years ago, his search for answers had only allowed him to come back for holidays and family birthdays. There were times when he had thought he would never find out how to break the curse. But now he had, and he was digging in his heels until he got what he wanted. Her. “What about you? Does it make you happy?” She wouldn’t look at him. “I’m happy for you.” “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” “That’s all I can give you.” She curled her hands over the chair back. He noticed the whites of her knuckles were showing. “You’re nervous.” “Of course, I’m nervous! The last time we were together, you were nearly killed!” “That’s why I’m here.” He wanted to hold her, but knew that was moving too fast. “To talk about that.” “I don’t want to talk about it. All I want is to forget.” Her gaze darted around as though she thought they were being watched.
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He knew she expected Charles Villeroy to somehow make his presence known the way he had five years ago. “Aubrey, listen to me.” “I think you should go.” Fear darkened her blue eyes as she strode past him to the door. “Now.“ “I’m not leaving.” He knew how stubborn she was. And how afraid, but this was their only chance. He closed the distance between them and didn’t stop until he was right on top of her. Jeff looked down into those blue eyes that had cost him countless nights of sleep. “I know how to break the curse.”
Chapter Two Sheer panic streaked across her face. “Jeff—” “I know Ben told you where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing.” She still did the taxes of his brother and parents, so he’d been able to keep tabs on her during the last five years. He knew she’d done the same with him. “This can’t be a complete surprise.” “He mentioned you had gone to several places.” “I went to those places for us.” He reached over her head and firmly shut the door. “The time we’ve been apart, I’ve been tracking down leads on the curse. France first, since that was where it began. Then Salem, New Orleans, Jamaica. At each location, I learned something different and that led me to the next place.” “If there was really a way to break the curse, don’t you think my mother or grandmother would’ve tried it?” Aubrey moved away from him, back into the living room. “They spent their lives trying to figure out how to break it.” “They didn’t have all the information.” Stopping next to the sofa, she folded her arms and gave him a look. “And you do?” “Yes.” He sounded so sure. For an instant, Aubrey let herself consider the possibility. His job as a private investigator could have helped him locate clues her family had missed. Everything inside her wanted to believe he’d found a way for them to be together, but she just didn’t. She couldn’t. She shook her head. “You don’t think the curse can be broken,” he said. “That’s right.” “Your grandmother knew there was a way. She believed in it enough to protect one of the things that we’ll need.” “Need?” She should insist again that he go, but she couldn’t make herself do it. He looked so good. It had been so long. “For what?” “We have to perform a ritual and there are certain items we must have.” She let out a shaky breath. “What kind of items?” A cautious hope lit his eyes. “A dream catcher, the ashes of your ancestors, a flower called the Heart of the Moon and blood from you and me.”
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She searched his eyes. Whether it was true or not, whether it would work or not, Jeff believed it. “Ashes, blood, moon flowers. Do you hear yourself?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I know it sounds like hocus-pocus. It is, but I also know it’s the answer.” He was so convinced. Aubrey wasn’t. “I’ll give you my blood and you can try it.” “It doesn’t work that way.” He moved closer, until she could feel the warmth of his hard, solid body, filling her lungs with his clean, male scent. “The curse has to be broken by a Ledoux woman and the man she loves.” Aubrey’s heart sank. She didn’t know if the ritual would break the curse, but she did know if she agreed to participate, she would have to admit that she still loved Jeff. If she did that, Villeroy would finish what he’d started five years ago. He would kill Jeff and she couldn’t bear that. “It can’t be me, Jeff. I’m not in love with you anymore.”
*** “Liar,” he said softly. Jeff wanted to haul her to him and kiss her until she admitted what they both knew. Instead, he made do with lightly grazing his thumb along her lower lip. Touching her sent a jolt of need through his body. The heat that flared in her eyes told him she felt the same rush in her blood. “At least give it a chance.” “No.” Her flat refusal irritated him. “We could be together.” “I think you should accept we can’t.” He wouldn’t accept it. “If you won’t do it for us, then think about Villeroy. He needs to be stopped.” “We stopped him five years ago.” “That wasn’t stopping! That was hitting the ‘pause’ button.” They didn’t have time for this. Fighting back his anger that she wouldn’t even try, Jeff cut to the one thing he knew would get her. “You owe me.” She frowned. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he would do whatever it took. “It was your curse that nearly killed me. The least you can do is help me try and break it.” Her eyes widened in outrage. “You’re trying to guilt me into it!” “What if doing this would reverse the damage to my throat?” “Will it?” “I don’t know, but it sure won’t if you don’t help me.” Even though what had happened was no more her fault than his, he wasn’t above shaming her into participating. “Well?” That’s…emotional blackmail.” “And?” He wasn’t giving an inch. Her jaw angled mutinously, but she finally muttered, “All right. So what do we do?”
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“The first thing we need to do is get the dream catcher your grandmother had.” “What dream catcher? She didn’t have—” Awareness swept across her face. “How did you know about that? It hasn’t hung in the house since I was a little girl. I didn’t even remember myself until you mentioned it.” “It’s part of the information I found. Where is it?” “With the rest of her things in the cellar.” “Do you still keep it padlocked?” “Yes.” She gave him a flat stare. “I suppose you want the key.” “And you. I want you to go with me.” “I don’t like it down there.” “Understandable, but we have to hunt down the items together or the curse can’t be broken. That’s why I didn’t go on my own to find any of this stuff.” A look of strained patience tightened her features. “Fine.” After getting a small key from a narrow drawer next to the sink, she led him outside and to the back of the house. The cellar door was set into the ground at a slope. Bending slightly, she unlocked the padlock and Jeff opened the metal door. A dank, wet smell rose up. After her mother’s and grandmother’s deaths, Aubrey had stored all of their things in the cellar, closed it up tight and never gone down there again. The sunlight slanting into the underground room showed the way down the concrete steps. At the bottom, Aubrey pulled the single string hanging from the ceiling and light from a lone bulb spread weakly through the darkness. She moved to a weathered wooden crate against the wall. Jeff reached her in two steps and helped her remove the age-smoothed lid. The musty smell of mothballs surged out of the box. On top of a plastic garment bag lay a fiddle and bow. “My grandfather’s,” Aubrey explained as she carefully picked up the instrument and placed it to the side. Beneath two layers of clothes, they found a carton of bullets and an old revolver. It took them a couple of hours of looking through a smaller crate and several more boxes before finding the dream catcher in a large weathered trunk. The piece was no more than three inches in diameter, with delicate webbing in the center and its wheel wrapped in soft tan leather. Beads and white feathers hung from a strip of leather in the center. Aubrey carried it up the steps and after shutting the cellar door, Jeff joined her in the living room. “Do you know how these work?” “The good dreams make their way through the center of the web and the beads trap the bad dreams.” She ran a finger down one feather. “Why the dream catcher? What significance does it hold?” “The ritual requires items that symbolize your direct bloodline, so we need it because your father and grandfather were Native American.” He tucked a strand of silky raven hair behind her ear then twined it around his finger. “Why don’t you want to believe we can break the curse?”
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She gently tugged her hair from his hold and stepped back. “Do you have any proof it can be broken?” “I found a journal.” Now that he finally believed it, he wanted her to believe it, too. “It belonged to Charles Villeroy. There are pages of notes about his love for Genevieve and her rejection of him. At the end, he encoded the way to break the curse and I’m sure I’ve figured it out.” “I’m sorry, Jeff. I just can’t buy into it.” “Or you won’t,” he said softly. “Does it matter?” No. He wanted to take her in his arms, soothe away the shadows on her face. “I missed you. I want us to be together.” “Don’t.” She turned away, but not before he caught sight of a tear. Frustration burned through him. He knew this was hard on her. It was hard on him too. As his damaged vocal cords proved, death was a real danger. He dealt in facts, not curses and ashes and dream catchers. But he was willing to try anything, mystical or not, if it meant he and Aubrey could be together. She had changed his life even before that night. They would be together, no matter what he had to do.
Chapter Three I missed you. Aubrey couldn’t get Jeff’s words out of her head. She’d missed him, too, but being with him was too risky. Not only because it felt as though they were taunting Villeroy, but also because she wasn’t sure how long she could resist the gorgeous man who had walked back into her life. Feeling his eyes slide hotly over her, she tried to ignore the way her nerves sizzled. Tried to ignore the hitch in her pulse at the sight of him in worn jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt that molded his broad shoulders. She stepped behind the sofa, keeping some space between them. “Now what?” “We find the ashes of your ancestors. According to the journal, they’re supposed to all be together.” She nodded. “When a Ledoux woman dies, she’s cremated and a small amount of her remains are added to the urn that contains the ashes of those who died before. Grandmama left the urn with an old friend, Father Brian. He lives in Guthrie, but—” “I’ll drive.” “He died of a heart attack a few days ago and his funeral was yesterday. The ashes are in his office, but a lady from the church said I can’t get them until after Hallowe’en.” “We can’t wait that long.” Jeff turned and started for the door. “We’ll go to his house and have a look around.” “But that lady said—” “Aubrey, we don’t have time for manners. We don’t know how long it will take to find the ashes. What if they aren’t in his office? He could’ve put them in storage or hidden them somewhere.”
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“Can’t you get whatever is next on the list?” “No, we can’t,” he emphasized, pointedly reminding her they were in this together. “We have to find these things in a certain order.” “Is that what the journal says?” “Yes.” “How do we know the order really matters? No one else has managed to break the curse with them.” “Maybe because they didn’t obtain the things in order,” he said evenly. There was no putting him off, she realized soberly. “All right.” Thirty minutes later, they had left Oklahoma City and were driving north on I-35 toward Guthrie with the midafternoon sun glaring off the hood of Jeff’s Mercedes. Inside the sedan, Aubrey could feel the warmth from his body, smell his soap and citrus scent. Want thrummed in her veins, burning like a fever in her blood, but she tried to ignore it. Jeff slid her a look. ”Have you dated since I left?” Why did he have to bring this up? “A few times.” He tensed. “How seriously?” “Never more than a couple of dates with anyone.” “I haven’t dated at all.” “In five years!” Her gaze flew to his. “Why not?” “I don’t want anyone else.” The raspy words curled around her. She didn’t want anyone else either, but their lives had stopped being about what they wanted a long time ago. “Five years is a long time to be without someone.” “To be without you.” The heavy-lidded look he gave her caused a shiver. Oh, boy. He had to stop saying things like that. She didn’t have much willpower when it came to him. “You shouldn’t wait around on something that probably won’t happen.” “It will happen. We’ll break this curse and then we can be together.” With one hand on the wheel, he took the other and nudged one knuckle under her chin, turning her face to his. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t want any other man to put his hands on you.” The possessiveness in his smoky voice shot electricity down to her toes and she fought back the urge to agree. “We’ll both move on someday.” “You’re afraid Villeroy will somehow sense it if you admit you still love me. I get it, but don’t try to tell me you don’t want me. I saw it in your eyes back at your house, Aubrey.” He was right about why she wouldn’t say the words. It was also why she wouldn’t let herself feel them. The wall she’d erected between her and Jeff was starting to weaken. She’d considered giving in to the feelings she wouldn’t voice or even admit, but the stark, horrifying image of Jeff unconscious by the lake, his strong
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neck ringed with bruises, renewed her determination to resist him. She must keep a distance between them, and not only because she feared Villeroy might learn of it, but also because she didn’t know if she was strong enough to let Jeff go a second time. And if she couldn’t, that would be like signing his death warrant.
*** The thought still bothered Aubrey when they arrived at Father Brian’s home on the edge of church property. The modest-sized stone house on the picturesque lawn was quiet and there was no sign of movement. Not so strange if the occupant had just died. She followed Jeff up a neatly tended sidewalk then waited as he knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he peered through the front windows. They walked around the entire house, trying to get a look inside. “There’s no one here,” he said. “Maybe someone at the church can let us in.” They walked the short distance to the church, but a sign there announced the building was closed for the rest of the day. As they returned to the car, Aubrey was glad she hadn’t gotten her hopes up. She started to slide back into the sedan, pausing when she saw Jeff open the trunk. He took something out and jogged back to the porch. “What are you doing?” She moved around the car for a better view. “No one’s home.” “We can still get inside.” “How? Break in?” she scoffed. “As a matter of fact.” Jeff slid two small tools into the lock. “Are you kidding me!” She glanced around, hurrying to him and grabbing his arm. “You can’t break into a priest’s home. You shouldn’t be breaking into anyone’s home.” Click. Straightening with a satisfied smile, Jeff opened the door. “After you.” When she hesitated, he curled an arm around her waist and swept her inside, then shut the door. She pulled away, still feeling the heat of his touch. “How did you learn to pick locks?” “Trick of the trade.” Placing a hand in the small of her back, he steered her across the foyer. “I thought private investigators were law-abiding citizens.” “We are. Mostly.” He glanced around the house. “Where should we start?” Sunlight streamed through the windows flanking the front door and spread into the living area beyond. Down the hall to their left was a bathroom and what Aubrey assumed were bedrooms. She peered into the room right off the entry way. “Here’s his office.“ Jeff followed her into the priest’s study. The space was open and roomy with a fireplace. Half-drawn blinds allowed bars of daylight to fan across the wood floor to the rough stone hearth. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with books, lined one wall and part of another behind a heavy walnut desk. In front of the desk were two leather-padded chairs on either side of a lamp table which held a thick book with a frayed green cover and binding. “What are we looking for?” Jeff asked.
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“Some sort of urn.” Aubrey carefully checked a small blue-and-white urn displayed on one of the bottom book shelves and moved on. Jeff picked up an ivory urn on a small desk to the right of the fireplace, then a carved pink-marbled cremation box. “There’s a name on the bottom of this one—but it’s not Ledoux.” Aubrey spied a brass urn on the credenza behind the priest’s desk. After checking it, she said shakily, “Here it is. My grandmother’s name is on the front. Lily Ledoux.” Jeff reached her as she removed the lid. “It’s empty.” She was surprised to feel let down. “There are no ashes in here. Just a note.” He fished out a crumpled slip of paper and read, “The flames will restore the heart. Revelation 23. I have no idea what that means.” “I recognize Father Brian’s handwriting from letters he sent to my grandmother.” Aubrey met his gaze, which was just as puzzled as hers. “It sounds like a Bible verse.” In seconds, he had located a Bible on the priest’s desk and handed it to Aubrey. She flipped through the pages once, then again. She sank down in the chair behind her. His big hand settled on her shoulder. “What is it?” “There is no chapter twenty-three.”
Chapter Four Jeff could swear it had been disappointment he’d heard in Aubrey’s voice when she realized the chapter they sought didn’t exist. The look on her face had been part empathy, part frustration. She could talk all day about how she didn’t still have feelings for him, but she did. She peered at the slip of paper then frowned. “What does this note mean?” He read the cryptic message again, dragging a hand across his nape. “The Book of Revelation ends with chapter twenty-two, so what is he trying to tell us? The note says, ‘The flames will restore the heart.’ Look for something to do with flames.” Getting to her feet, Aubrey paged through the entire book of Revelation. “There are a lot of references in here to fire.” “So, if there’s no chapter twenty-three, maybe the clue we’re looking for isn’t in the Bible. Perhaps it’s about the word ‘Revelation’. Reveal?” “Maybe he’s trying to show us something?” Jeff nodded, easing down into the priest’s chair behind his desk. “What are you doing?” “Looking at the room from his perspective. It can’t hurt.” “Oh, that’s good. I guess that’s why you make the big P.I. bucks.”
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She gave him the first real smile he’d seen since showing up at her house. His gaze lingered on her mouth and his body literally hurt from wanting to taste her. “Jeff.” The sharpness of her voice snapped his attention to her gorgeous face. “What?” “Stop looking at me like that.” “I can’t help it. I want—” “I can guess what you want,” she said dryly, “and that isn’t why we’re here.” At least she hadn’t said no. “Maybe later,” he teased. A flush tinted her skin and she looked away. “Is there something else in this room that might hold ashes?” Jeff stood, scanning the space. “Not that I see. I keep going back to the ‘flames’ in the note…. Fire. Fireplace!” Aubrey looked at the stone hearth. “There’s no fire.” “Maybe we don’t need one. Maybe what we need is in the fireplace.” He lay on his back and scooted close so he could look up the flue. After checking both walls of the passage and feeling only brick and bugs, he eased out then got to his feet, dusting off his hands and clothes. “There’s nothing hidden in there.” “No chapter twenty-three. Nothing in the fireplace. Maybe this note isn’t for us.” “It has to be related to the curse,” Jeff argued. “Otherwise, why put it in your grandmother’s urn?” “Good point. What does he want us to know?” Jeff shook his head, settling back into the swivel chair and turning in a slow circle. He considered everything at eye level, then above. Nothing. He shifted his gaze lower. A few feet away, Aubrey did the same. “Maybe the ashes aren’t in this room.” “Maybe not. I just don’t want to give up until we’ve looked everywhere we can think of.” Her gaze ran over the wood floor that butted up to the hearth. The buff-colored stones were roughly cut, textured with ridges and dips. Aubrey stared for a long minute then pointed. “Is something written on that stone?” Following the direction of her gaze, Jeff stood and stepped over to it. His shadow fell across the floor and he knelt for a closer look. “Roman numerals. X-X-i-i-i.” “Twenty-three!” she exclaimed. He jiggled the rock. “This feels loose.” “Do you think that means anything besides that it needs to be repaired?” “We’re going to find out.” Jeff worked at the stone until he was able to lift it out.
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Aubrey stood at his shoulder, examining the opening in the floor. “That hole is at least ten inches deep…. Something’s in it.” She reached in and brought out a weighted chamois bag. Opening the drawstrings, she slid down the covering to reveal an antique-looking hourglass. She guessed it to be about eight inches tall with a three or four inch circumference. Disappointment filled her. “It’s just sand.” “Wait.” Jeff took it and she leaned toward him as he turned the piece upside down. Grinning, he lifted it into the sunlight. “Look at the texture.” Examining it closely, she was able to see it was much more fine-grained than sand. “It’s the ashes! Very clever of you to see them there.” “Very clever of Father Brian to hide them and leave us a clue.” A strand of raven hair draped across her cheek, drawing his eyes to her smooth copper skin, the curve of her jaw. She was driving Jeff crazy. On the trip up here, her nearness, the smell of her perfume, had tantalized him, and now his nerve endings were plugged in to her every move. He reached up to tuck the hair behind her ear and stroked a finger down the elegant line of her neck. She froze. For a heartbeat, her eyes were unguarded and he saw a flash of naked desire—then it disappeared. Jeff’s chest squeezed hard as she drew into herself again. Damn, he wanted to kiss her. He knew she was pulling away so she wouldn’t be hurt again. So he wouldn’t be. But he hated it. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his hands off her.
*** Next on their list was the Heart of the Moon flower that bloomed only two nights a year around Hallowe’en. Aubrey agreed to let Jeff use her computer to confirm that the plant grew in southeastern Oklahoma, though she remembered it from the time they’d spent there five years ago. As he checked the Internet, they ate sandwiches. She was right. The flower grew on the grounds of what was now known as Wheelock Academy, originally run as a missionary school for Choctaw children, then as a boarding school exclusively for Choctaw girls. Located northwest of Idabel, Oklahoma, the school had been closed more than fifty years ago and was said by some in the area to be haunted. A fitting place for the rarely-blossoming flower that would supposedly help break the curse, Aubrey mused. She cleaned the plates as Jeff called the National Park Service, which oversaw the grounds now that the academy was on the historical register, and asked if the flower had bloomed yet. After learning it hadn’t, he told Aubrey they should drive down tomorrow. Finished with the computer, he roamed around her living area and into the sunroom. The way he’d looked at her back at Father Brian’s had put butterflies in her stomach. She had thought he was going to kiss her—and she’d wanted him to. She wanted him to do more than that. Bad idea. “Are you spending more time on your art than your accounting these days? Looks like you have quite a few pieces here.” “The painting is becoming profitable.” Remembering that Jeff’s face was now in every scene she’d done this month, she moved out of the kitchen and toward the sunroom. She saw his attention skip over the backs of the canvases stacked against the wall and land on the sketchpad she’d thrown down before his arrival.
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She started forward, but before she could get to him, he bent to pick it up. The last thing she needed was him seeing who she’d drawn. “I’ll get that!” He smoothed down the pages and held the drawing pad out to her, then pulled it back with an arrested stare on his face. His blue eyes burned into hers. “This is me.” She held out her hand for the tablet and he gave it to her. “You still think about me,” he said. “Not on purpose.” He raised a brow. “At the first of the month, your face began appearing in my art. Looking back on it, I think I kept drawing your face because it was sort of a premonition you were coming.” Walking over, she placed the sketchpad on the table with her paints. “Not because I’m still hung up on you.” “Right,” he said with a grin that had fire curling low in her belly. “Let’s just concentrate on getting the things on the list.” She turned, coming right up against his chest. She hadn’t known he was so close. “Jeff—” Before she could take a step, he curled a hand around her nape and kissed her. He backed her into the wall, greedily taking everything he could because he knew she would pull away. Mouth ravaging hers, he pressed himself hard against her. His senses swam with the dark-honey taste of her, the sleek hotness of her tongue against his. For a few suspended seconds, she melted into him. Her hands sank into his hair for one heartbeat, maybe two, then she flattened both palms on his chest and pushed him away. Arms tightening around her, he lifted his head. She was breathing as hard as he was. “That better have been on the list.” “Nope,” he said huskily. “That was all for me.”
Chapter Five One more kiss like that and Aubrey was afraid the tight leash she was keeping on her emotions would snap. Even hours later, that kiss was still making her nervous. It made her want more than just a kiss. Lying in bed, she tried to steer her thoughts away from Jeff and the memory of what he’d done. Well, what they’d both done, she admitted. She had kissed him back, after all. Tomorrow they would drive down to Wheelock and wait for the flower to bloom. The thought sent a flicker of dread through her, though she wasn’t sure why. Was it because they would be near Pine Creek Lake where she and Jeff had made love that one and only time? The place where she had confessed her feelings and nearly gotten him killed? The memory of Villeroy’s invisible hands around Jeff’s throat made her nauseous, draping a dark sense of dread over her that their attempt to break the curse might rouse the French bastard. Earlier today, she had actually become caught up in the excitement of finding the ashes of her ancestors, but she couldn’t let herself believe they could break the curse. It was one thing to help Jeff. Another to let
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her guard down. As long as she kept her emotions in check, she could keep Villeroy unaware of what was going on. Feeling reassured, she had no trouble falling asleep. “You can’t hide. Look what you’ve done. Look.” She couldn’t tell where she was, but through the darkness, she could see Jeff. First his blue eyes, then his ghostly-pale face and finally his strong muscular body. A pair of hands were choking him. They squeezed harder, harder and he toppled to the ground. Crying out, Aubrey sat straight up in bed. Cold sweat slicked down her spine and she shoved her hair out of her face with unsteady hands. Trembling, she buried her head in her hands, taking deep breaths. “Aubrey.” Her head jerked up. A careful look around her moonlit room revealed no one was there. That nightmare must have really spooked her. “Aubrey.” Goosebumps broke out on her arms. “Who is it?” she demanded. There was no answer. Fear flashing through her, she slid out of bed and opened her door to peer down the darkened hallway. The voice wasn’t Jeff’s; he had left a couple of hours ago. Caution had her grabbing her cell phone and a flashlight before stepping out of her room. She passed her guest bedroom and a small bathroom before reaching the living room. There was no one in there. The kitchen, too, was empty. The entire house was quiet, shrouded with a heaviness that pressed in on her. Moonlight flowed through the large windows of the sunroom, gilding her paint tubes and the canvases. She started to turn, dismissing the voice as some part of her nightmare when a column of mist appeared in front of her eyes. Frozen to the spot, her heart hammered so loudly it echoed in her ears. Through the haze, Aubrey could see a face forming. The features were masculine, arrogant, and the man had a shock of silver hair. Dimly, she heard a loud thud and realized she had dropped the flashlight. The image in front of her wasn’t physical, yet she could feel energy pulsing from it. “It will never work, my dear. One way or another, your man is dead. You will suffer as I did when the woman I loved refused me.” Her breath lodged painfully in her chest. This hazy entity was Villeroy, just as she remembered from that night five years ago. His words looped through her brain, frightening her enough to charge to the wall and flip on the lights. The mist disappeared and she was alone again. After a long moment of internal debate, she picked up the flashlight and walked on shaky legs to the sunroom. Nothing had been disturbed. Had the whole thing been a dream? No. She was wide awake and had been since coming out of her bedroom. Gazing at the family photos on the mantel, sadness welled up at how alone the women in her family had been. A greasy knot formed in her stomach. She had admitted nothing to herself regarding her feelings for Jeff, but obviously Villeroy had picked up on something. If she continued spending time with Jeff, Villeroy would sense even more. She had to end it. Permanently.
***
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“What do you mean you’re not going?” Jeff demanded the next morning when he arrived to pick her up for their trip to find the flower. He should’ve stayed the night like he’d wanted to, but after that kiss, he hadn’t pressed his luck. “You damn sure are.” “I told you about that dream and what happened afterward with Villeroy.” “Don’t you think that could’ve been nerves?” “It felt real. He was real.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, Jeff held on to his temper. “But he didn’t threaten you?” “No, just warned me about what would happen.” “You’re skittish and you don’t believe we can break the curse anyway,” he rasped. “That’s why you’re trying to back out.” “I’m backing out because you could die!” He weighed his words. “We’re close, Aubrey. Closer than we’ve ever been. I know this will work. Can’t you trust me?” “It has nothing to do with trusting you. It has everything to do with what he did to you last time and what he’ll finish this time.” He understood she was frightened, but resentment he’d buried for years bubbled up. “So, you’re going to let Villeroy scare you off like before. Why am I not surprised?” Her eyes narrowed. “You blame me for walking away? It saved your life!” “I think you turned your back on us—on me—when you shouldn’t have. For a long time, I did blame you.” “You still do. It’s all over your face.” She was visibly shaking, her eyes flashing with anger and fear. “I had no idea you felt like this. I didn’t do it to hurt you.” “You gave up on us at the first sign of trouble.” “Trouble?” Her voice rose. “He almost killed you!” “I know that and it scared the hell out of me, but what I felt for you was strong enough to overcome that. He didn’t kill me and I saw that as a chance to beat him, to find a way out. You saw it as a chance to hide.” She paled, saying quietly, “That’s not fair.” The hurt that darkened her eyes made him feel like a total jackass. He walked over to her, reaching out. She sidestepped him and moved behind the couch. His gut twisted as it did every time he thought about spending his life without her. It took effort for him to gentle his voice. “I wanted to find a way for us to be together, but you were happy to walk away.” “Happy had nothing to do with it.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “You think I gave up because I didn’t…care for you? Maybe you don’t remember how close you came to being murdered, but I do.” “Of course I remember.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “But you never even spoke to me after that. Never tried to find any answers.”
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Like he had been doing for five damn long years. “Maybe I should’ve accepted that night as the end, but I couldn’t. And I don’t now. You’re it for me, Aubrey.” He didn’t want to do things this way, but she was coming with him one way or another. “It doesn’t matter if you cooperate or not. As long as I have you with me, it will work.” “So, what are you going to do?” she scoffed. “Kidnap me?” “If I have to.” Her jaw dropped. “Give me a break.” “Your choice.” He walked up to her, towering over her. Those blue eyes shot fire at him. She ducked past him and went to the kitchen. “No.” “I’ll carry you out of here if I have to.” He followed her into the kitchen, planting himself at her back and trapping her between his rock-hard body and the counter. She stiffened. He was so close to her, he could smell her shampoo, and it had him gripping the counter’s edge so he wouldn’t put his hands on her. “I nearly died for you. The least you can do is help me try to help us. You owe it to both of us, Aubrey Lynn.” She bowed her head, saying after a long moment, “This could go so wrong.” “And it could go so right.” He closed his arms around her and pulled her against him, saying into her hair, “Even if you don’t believe it, can’t you trust me on this?” “All right, but I think this is a mistake.” She turned in his arms, tears glistening in her eyes. “My head is saying ‘walk away,’ but my heart won’t let me.” Holding her close, he took note of the fact that she didn’t say that their feelings were a mistake. “This will work. It will.” She stood stiffly against him, frustration scoring her words. “I wish I could believe that, even a little bit.”
Chapter Six If she thought too far ahead, she wouldn’t be able to do this. Minute by minute. That’s how she had to approach this. Aubrey couldn’t let go of what Jeff had said. He was right. She had allowed fear to stand in their way before. But he refused to let her do that this time. Rather than going directly to I-40 East as she expected, he drove to a familiar neighborhood. He parked in the driveway of a modest-sized, gray brick home. She looked over at him. “Why are we at your brother’s?” “Ben’s agreed to let us use his SUV. That way, we’ll be somewhat comfortable when we spend the night waiting on that flower.” Jeff picked up both his and Aubrey’s overnight bags and transferred them from his sedan to the other vehicle.
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Ben Wyrick walked out of the house with a smile. Like his brother, he was all hard muscle and sinew. The big man hugged her. “How’s my favorite accountant?” “Fine.” She hugged him in return. “Did he tell you about our ‘flower stakeout’?” He nodded. “And everything else. I’m a little surprised you’re going along with it.” “So am I,” she said wryly. “I’m not sure how this stuff works, but Jeff is so certain it will that he’s managed to make me a believer, too.” She followed Jeff’s movements as he returned to his car for his cell phone and sunglasses. Smiling up at his brother, she said, “Jeff told me you’d met someone.” “Yeah.” Ben grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “Too bad Cass isn’t here right now. You’d like her. She’s a firefighter.” “How did you meet her?” “I was investigating a suspicious blaze and she was one of the firefighters I interviewed. She’s gorgeous and smart and really good at her job.” “Wow.” The man looked absolutely besotted. Aubrey couldn’t help giving a delighted laugh. “I’ve never seen you like this before.” “I don’t think I’ve ever been like this.” He chuckled. Jeff walked over and tossed his sedan keys to his brother. Ben clapped him on the shoulder and gave Aubrey another hug. “Good luck and be careful. If I don’t hear from y’all, I’ll assume there’s a problem and I’ll come down.” “Thanks.” Jeff held open the passenger door and helped Aubrey inside. Several minutes later, they were headed for the interstate, but her mind was still on her earlier conversation with Jeff and the look on Ben’s face when he had mentioned breaking the curse. Here was a man who investigated fires for a living, who demanded proof for everything, and he had no problem believing Jeff. She shouldn’t either. She had let Jeff down—and herself—because of fear. They’d both survived that horrible night five years ago, but what had their lives been like? Separate, empty. And hadn’t she regretted more than once pushing him out of her life? It had been necessary. She still believed that. But maybe Jeff was right. Maybe this was a second chance for them. The last five years, she had been afraid to even think about him. She didn’t want to keep living like that. *** They checked into a cabin near Pine Creek Lake, about fifteen miles from Wheelock Academy’s campus in the lush and heavily timbered area of southeastern Oklahoma. Jeff had
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insisted that they share a cabin, and he claimed the sleeper sofa. Aubrey dropped her overnight bag in the bedroom. While he made some phone calls, she walked out onto a small back porch. Through the trees, now singed with the vibrant reds and oranges and yellows of fall, she could see the lake, sunlight glinting off the water. This wasn’t the same cabin where they had stayed before, but that didn’t stop the memories from rushing in. That night, they had taken a walk by the lake. Jeff had come prepared with a blanket and a bottle of wine so they could sit by the water. They’d started kissing and before Aubrey realized it, they were making love. That was when Jeff had told her he was in love with her. And she had said it right back. Seconds later, he began to choke and Aubrey saw the horrifying impression of hands around his throat. The man who had cursed her family materialized. Tall and rawboned, with a shock of silver hair and cold empty eyes, Villeroy had squeezed Jeff’s neck so hard his vocal cords had been permanently damaged. Villeroy hadn’t stopped until she had sworn she would send Jeff away and never contact him. He had warned that if she tried to be with Jeff again, Villeroy would feel their energy and he would kill Jeff. Aubrey’s chest tightened and dread snaked up her spine. Here they were, about to go back to that place. At least this time, they were aware Villeroy could show up. She hoped with everything in her that Jeff was right about breaking the curse. She felt him come up behind her, big warm hands closing over her shoulders as he bent to her. “Remembering?” “Yes.” Her throat was tight with it. “Me, too.” He pulled her back into him and she didn’t resist. “It will work,” he whispered against her hair. She didn’t say anything, just tightened her hold on his arms when he nuzzled her cheek. They had a few hours before dark, so they spent it at the lake finding the exact spot. They weren’t sure if they needed to be in the same place, but they wanted to be because it was special to them. An hour before sunset, they carefully placed the urn of ashes and the dream catcher into the SUV and drove to the Wheelock Academy grounds. Seven buildings remained, one a quaint white house named Leflore Hall that was now a museum. A nearby church and cemetery were also part of the compound. The Heart of the Moon grew at a spot between the church and cemetery, protected by a small fence and identified by a standing brass plaque. By nightfall, Jeff and Aubrey had the place to themselves. Jeff backed the SUV close to the edge of the cemetery. After laying down the middle seat, he and Aubrey climbed into the back. He leaned against the wheel well, his long legs easily stretching the distance to touch hers. They kept two of the windows slightly opened so they wouldn’t steam up from their body heat. There was a fall nip in the air and Aubrey shivered.
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“C’mere.” Jeff tugged her across the floor and into the vee of his legs, wrapping his arms around her. “You ever been out here on Hallowe’en?” “No.” His body was like a furnace and she burrowed into him. “Are you okay with spending the night?” “Yes.There’s no choice anyway, is there? We need to be here in case the flower blooms.” He rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath tickling her ear. “What was that story you told me when we were in the area before? That if you come to this cemetery during a full moon, blood will ooze from one of the headstones?” “It’s something I heard growing up from my cousins down here. On Hallowe’en, some people love to bring unsuspecting victims out here and tell them it’s haunted.” “You afraid of the ghosts?” Only the ones from our past. “I’m more afraid the flower won’t bloom in time.” If that didn’t happen before midnight tomorrow, they would have to wait another year. As time ticked by, they talked quietly. Warm now and more calm about doing what they were doing than she would’ve imagined, Aubrey shifted in Jeff’s arms. “I want to apologize.” “For what?” “What happened five years ago.” He stiffened. “Not this again.” “It’s not what you think. I’m not trying to back out again. It’s just that until today, I didn’t realize how much I hurt you. I thought I was protecting you.” He hugged her tight, his body hard and hot against her back, his heady male scent surrounding her. Reassuring her. “I really believed I was doing the right thing.” “I guess it was, back then. But not now.” “I know.” She turned her head and placed a kiss on his bicep. As unnerving as this was to her, it also felt right. Which made no sense, but neither did the rest of it. Here they were, waiting through the long hours of the night to see if a flower bloomed, but Aubrey wasn’t quitting this time. She repeated that to herself when dawn broke and the Heart of the Moon remained closed.
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Chapter Seven When they returned to the cabin after dawn, Jeff was antsy. One, because the flower hadn’t bloomed. Two, holding Aubrey all night without putting his hands on her the way he wanted had been hell. Hot, hard desire thrummed in his veins. He actually had to take a cold shower and he thought it had helped—until she took her turn in the bathroom. He paced the living room, his body heating up again as he imagined water flowing over her dewy honeyed skin, the full breasts he wanted against him, those leanly muscled legs wrapped around him. If he didn’t get out of here, he was going to join her in the shower. Dragging a hand across his nape, he stalked out to the back porch. He wanted her, didn’t think she would turn him away, but right now she had to be the one who decided if they went further than the kiss they’d shared at her house. But come midnight, all bets were off. After tomorrow they would spend the rest of their lives together and he was going to have her. When he heard the bedroom door close, he knew he should try to get some sleep and stop torturing himself with thoughts of them together. He stayed on the porch, hoping the chill in the air would cool his blood. “Jeff.” He turned, his body tightening at the sight of her in a pair of red pajamas with low-riding pants. Inky hair swirled around her shoulders. Her fresh scent drifted to him, tinged now with a light musky smell from the soap in the cabin’s bathroom. He crossed the porch, stepping back inside the cabin with her and locking the door. “Not sleepy?” She shook her head. “Me neither.” He thought about taking her hand and pulling her over to the couch, but he didn’t trust himself to stop there. “Are you hungry? I can get us some food.” “No, thanks.” “Want to watch TV or something?” “Or something,” she murmured, closing the distance between them. Surprised by her action, every cell in his body buzzed. “Aubrey?” Nerves shimmered in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. “The only thing in my head is you. Being with you.” Hell, yes. “Same for me.” She amazed him again by stepping close and sliding her arms around his neck. “I can’t stop thinking about how much time we’ve lost. Tonight might be it for us.”
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“After tonight, we’ll have forever.” Settling one hand at her waist, he threaded the fingers of his other hand through her hair. “We will break this thing.” “All we really have is right now and I don’t want to waste it.” Neither did he. He curled a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his. After a long moment, he lifted his head and she took his hand in hers, leading him to the bedroom. They stopped next to a queen-sized bed covered in a homemade quilt. Jeff tugged her around to face him. “You sure about this?” “Absolutely.” Whatever happened tonight, she was going to have what her heart had denied wanting for so long. Him. Them. Kissing him again, her hands slid under his long-sleeved T-shirt to warm supple skin then traced around his waistband. She raked her nails lightly across his belly as he unbuttoned the front of her pajama top and curved his big hands around her breasts. She pushed his shirt up and he reached back, yanking it over his head. He lifted her, his mouth closing over her plump, perfect flesh. She folded her arms around his head, arching toward him as tears stung her eyes. Emotion built in her chest until she thought she might burst. Rasping her name, he skimmed his strong callused hands lightly down her body then back up. He was going so slow Aubrey wanted to scream with impatience. At the same time, she wanted to savor the rough velvet of his touch, the fiery glide of his mouth. This might be all they ever had. She wanted it to last. And judging by the slow reverent way he was touching every inch of her, he felt the same. He laid her on the bed and came over her. She kissed his chest, his shoulder, his neck, branding on her memory the feel of his skin, the smell of him, the leashed power in his body. He put his hands on her, in her, taking her to the edge twice before he pushed himself inside her. Blue eyes blazing down at her, he stroked her hair back from her face. “I love you, Aubrey Lynn.” Oh, how she wished she could say it back to him, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Instead, she showed him. *** They stayed in bed most of the day. Jeff half-expected Aubrey to balk again, but she didn’t. That night, they went back to the Wheelock campus. During the trip, she looked nervous, her gaze darting around as though searching for Villeroy. She and Jeff sat in the SUV as they had the night before, Aubrey in the vee of his legs as they watched and waited for the ghost-white flower to bloom. Neither of them said much, both very aware of what was riding on tonight.
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Cool night air swirled around them and she shivered against him. He rubbed her arms, wrapping his body around hers. He wanted to make plans for the future, but he knew she wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. The voices and laughter of trick-or-treaters drifted through the night as people raced past them to and from the cemetery. No one stayed for long, leaving with laughter and sometimes screams, probably caused by the jokers Aubrey had talked about. The minutes ticked by with no sign of the flower opening. “What time is it?” she asked quietly. He glanced at his watch. “About twenty minutes until midnight.” He suspected her nerves were frayed. His were starting to do that very thing. She shifted, laying her head back against his shoulder. “Where did you find the journal with all this information?” “Outside of Bordeaux, France.” “Who had it?” “It was on the grounds of the original Villeroy estate. I did a property search in the country for both ‘Ledoux’ and ‘Villeroy,’ and found the place. One of the outbuildings was being remodeled and the journal was discovered when a wall was torn down.” “It makes sense that the monster would hide it away where it would never be found.” “The people who now own the property wanted to sell the journal to me, but when I told them the story of the curse, they gave it to me instead. Thought it sounded romantic.” “That’s because they didn’t have to live it,” she muttered. Jeff squeezed her tight, nuzzling her cheek. Just as he started to bury his face in her hair, he caught a flash of something and tensed. “Look.” With the night pulsing around them, they watched as the flower began to open. They scrambled out of the SUV and rushed toward the plant. Once the bloom was completely open, they carefully cut the stem and placed the flower on a damp paper towel. Racing to Jeff’s vehicle, they sped to the lake. They gathered the flower, the urn and the dream catcher, and started for their spot, but when the place came into view, Aubrey stopped cold. In the moonlight, her skin looked waxy and Jeff’s chest tightened as he took her hand. “Thinking about what happened last time?” “Yes. The possibility that this might not work scares me to death.” She looked ready to run. He could feel her tremble, but he had no new words to encourage her. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “It’ll work, and I’ll give you a hard time about it until we’re old and gray.” She tried to muster up a smile. “You sound so sure.”
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“I am.” Now that they were here, he had a flash of doubt, but he quickly squelched it. He took the blanket and spread it on the ground. She carefully handed him the dream catcher, which he placed in the center of the blanket. He then opened the hourglass and emptied the ashes on top of the Native American charm. When he finished, Aubrey gently placed the Heart of the Moon bloom on the ashes. All that was left was to add their blood. According to the journal, the ritual was to be performed at midnight. With only seconds to go, Jeff opened a big pocket knife then turned his left palm up. He looked at her, his eyes so tender she felt tears gather in her own. “I love you, Aubrey Lynn.” He ran the blade across his palm. Moonlight and shadow mixed with the blood welling up from the cut. With his gaze on hers, he held his hand over the mound of items and squeezed. Droplets of blood fell on the flower, then the ashes. Aubrey swallowed hard as he passed her the knife. Feeling both hope and apprehension, she laid the blade on her palm. Looking into his eyes, she said the words she’d been afraid to even think for five years. “I love you, Jeff Wyrick.” She looked down, piercing her flesh with the blade. A choking sound had her head jerking up, and she cried out. Big, ghostly hands were clamped around Jeff’s throat, squeezing so hard the knuckles were white as bone. It was Villeroy.
Chapter Eight The silver-haired apparition sneered. “I thought you would’ve learned your lesson last time, Aubrey.” “Don’t kill him!” The knife slipped in her sweat-slicked palm. “Don’t!” “You know how to make me stop.” “Don’t listen, Aubrey,” Jeff choked out, clawing at Villeroy’s hands, twisting his body in an effort to free himself. “Keep your eyes on me, not him. Don’t stop.” The life was draining out of him and she considered dropping the knife. And then what? By confessing her feelings, she had probably already sealed Jeff’s fate. She couldn’t bear the thought. “You know this curse can’t be broken, girl,” Villeroy jeered. “You’re much too smart to believe that.” “If that’s true, then why are you trying to stop me?” Her voice was small, but challenging. He laughed, an ugly sharp sound in the stillness of the night. “Go ahead then.”
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She realized it didn’t matter if she believed any of this. Jeff did, and that was good enough for her. She wanted a life with him. “Aubrey,” Jeff rasped, his hands falling away from his throat. He went limp and Villeroy dropped him to the ground. She cried out. “It doesn’t matter now what you do. You’ve said the words. He’s dead.” “No.” She refused to believe that, though she was nearly paralyzed by the thought that telling Jeff she loved him had finally killed him. He had been willing to risk everything for her. She had to do the same for him. Locking her gaze on Jeff, praying he was still breathing, Aubrey slashed the knife across her palm. Biting back a cry at the stinging pain, she held her hand over the dream catcher and watched her blood mix with Jeff’s. The air thickened, seemed almost to move. She squeezed her hand hard to increase the blood flow. Villeroy screamed her name in fury and lunged toward her, distorting into a swirl of mist like what she’d seen at her house two nights ago. Keeping her gaze on Jeff, she repeated, “I love you,” over and over. Sweat slicked her palm, burning when it mingled with her blood. She couldn’t see through the dense haze. Time dragged, flaying her nerves. Finally, the heavy air lifted. From the corner of her eye, she saw Villeroy move and caught a spark of light. Gripping the knife, ready to kill him if she had to, she wheeled toward him. And stopped breathing. He was gone. Where he had stood was a pile of ashes. She looked down at the blanket. All that remained was the dream catcher and the Heart of the Moon, startlingly devoid of blood and still opened to full bloom. “Jeff, it worked! It worked!” She ran to him and knelt, cold fear burrowing in when he didn’t respond. “Jeff?” Using her uninjured hand, she lightly slapped his face. No response. He was as gray as the night and motionless. Fighting panic, she checked for a pulse at his artery. Getting none, she laid her head on his chest. When she couldn’t hear a heartbeat, she choked back a sob. The man she loved had broken the curse, but he was dead. Her heart felt as though it would burst. Tears blurring her vision, her fingers fluttered across his neck. “I love you. Don’t leave me.” Something brushed her hair. “Aubrey?” She gasped, jerking upright.
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Jeff blinked up at her, rasping, “Did it work? Where’s Villeroy?” “Yes, it worked!” She kissed him, tears of joy streaming down her face. He thumbed them away. She cupped his cheek and turned his head toward the blanket. “There’s Villeroy.” He frowned. “All I see is a pile of…dirt?” “It’s ashes.” Jeff’s gaze shot back to hers. “That’s Villeroy? What happened?” Gently stroking his throat, she told him all that she’d seen. Her heart clenched at the new bruises around his neck as she helped him sit up. “Are you okay?” “A little dizzy.” He pulled her into his lap and kissed her long and slow. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Tears burned her eyes as she levered herself off his lap and helped him to his feet. “Let’s go home.” While Jeff scooped Villeroy’s ashes into the hourglass, Aubrey picked up the dream catcher and flower. Once in the car, Jeff suggested a stop at Father Brian’s. “For the last part of the ritual?” He squeezed her hand. “No, something I want to do for us.” Four hours later, after a stop at a hardware store, Jeff lifted up the stone marked with the xxiii. Aubrey placed the hourglass full of Villeroy’s ashes in the hole beneath. He worked the stone back into place then mortared it up using the small bag of concrete he’d bought. Jeff slid an arm around her. “He’ll never get out of there.” “Because of you. Everything is because of you.” She stared up at him, her heart clenching at the love in his eyes. “Thank you for not giving up. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.” “Sorry enough to make it up to me?” “That depends.” She slid him a look from under her lashes. “What do you want?” “I want you to marry me.” She threw her arms around his neck, saying against his lips, “Yes.” *** A short time later, he insisted on carrying her over the threshold into her house. “We aren’t married yet,” she laughingly protested.
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“Doesn’t hurt to practice.” He carried her inside and to the sofa, sitting down with her in his lap. “Besides, I don’t plan on letting go of you for a long time.” “I love you.” She would never get tired of saying it, of knowing she could say it any time she wanted. He nudged her head back, raking his teeth down her throat as his hands went to the buttons on her shirt. “Tell me again.” “I love—“ Something caught her eye and she popped up. “Oh, my gosh!” Jeff grabbed her waist. “Hey, you’re messing up my rhythm.” “Look, look!” He followed her gaze to the framed photographs of her mother and grandmother on the mantel. “What the—” Aubrey slipped off his lap and grabbed his hand, pulling him with her over to the fireplace. She turned to him with a blinding smile, her eyes glistening with tears. “Do you see?” “Unbelievable.” She reached out and touched the picture of her mother, then the one of her grandmother. They had been alone in those pictures for all of Aubrey’s life. Now they were joined by her father and grandfather. “It worked,” she whispered. “Even better than I could’ve imagined.” Jeff swept her up and carried her to the bedroom. Choking back a sob, she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. Her mother and grandmother were finally reunited with the men they loved. Aubrey wanted to think every Ledoux woman from the past was now with her true love, complete at last. Just like she would be with Jeff. The two of them, together. Forever.
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Husband Material by Melissa McClone Elaine Cooper owes a fortune in back taxes—a fortune she doesn’t have. Though each of her sons will receive a large inheritance on his wedding day according to the terms of her late husband’s will, Elaine would rather lose the family horse ranch than see these confirmed bachelors marry for anything other than true love. So she keeps her secret, even from her firstborn, a widower who’s recently returned to the ranch with his young son in tow. But Joe soon learns the truth, and though he’s already spent his own legacy caring for his dying wife, as the eldest Cooper son, he takes it upon himself to come up with the money—one way or another. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Elaine and Joe, the three younger Cooper boys—Max, Ryan and Sean—each receive a mysterious letter telling them to find wives fast…or risk seeing their mother out on the street! And with that, the race to the altar is on! Workaholic Max has put his personal life on hold while he pursues a career as a financial analyst. But his mother’s troubles have him on the fast-track to matrimony—that is, if he can find a wife! In desperation, he asks his trusted assistant, Kate, to turn him into husband material….
Chapter One "You are the only man I know who prefers a hard desk to a soft bed, Maxwell Cooper." Max didn`t stir. He didn`t raise his head or open his eyes. After racking his brain all night and failing to come up with a solution to his problem, he wasn`t ready to start the day, and he definitely wasn`t ready for an argument with his assistant, Kate Reynolds. But even with his eyes shut, it didn`t take much effort to imagine Kate adjusting her turquoise-rim glasses as she stood on the opposite side of his desk, her auburn hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. After six years of working together, he knew what to expect. Four, three, two, one… "This is the second night in a row you`ve slept in your office," she said. Kate sounded much older than twenty-eight, but everyone at Andersen Willett, an investment bank in downtown Manhattan, knew she was wise beyond her years. "And it`s only Wednesday," she continued. "Do you plan to make it three nights in a row? Or go all the way for five?" Max wouldn`t be able to put off today any longer. He opened his eyes, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stiff neck. "I happen to like my office." On the sixty-fourth floor with a view of the Statue of Liberty, his office contained almost everything he needed for an overnight stay—toiletries and extra clothing. "The only thing missing is a pillow." He raised a brow. "Do you think you could pick one up for me when you drop off my dry cleaning?" She placed her hands on her hips—accentuating the generous curves usually hidden by her trademark boxy suit jackets. "Your work ethic is admirable, Maxwell, but you really need to get out of this office and get a life." Two of his ex-girlfriends, Julia St. Claire and Madeline Giles, had said something similar last night. Right after each had turned down his marriage proposal claiming he wasn`t husband material. Max had chalked
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Julia`s rejection up to her high-maintenance tendencies, but Madeline`s refusal two hours later had surprised him. She had always said she wanted a family. "I have a life." "You have a job. One you do very, very well." Kate stared at his cluttered desk. "But you spend more time at the office than anywhere else. Even when you`re away, your pager, cell phone and PDA keep you connected." "You make me sound like a workaholic." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, not answering. Max valued and respected Kate`s opinion. She was a big reason for his success. She might be on the shy side when it came to social situations, but she had keen business insights. He didn`t know what he`d do if he ever lost her. Together they were working toward a goal—mahogany row, several floors above them where high-ranking executives had offices. "You really think I`m a workaholic?" "When you aren`t working, you`re thinking or talking about work." "My job is important to me." Growing up he`d worked to escape the confines of his small hometown in Virginia. Unlike his brothers, he never felt as if he fit in at his family`s Flying C horse ranch. Max had always had dreams of striking it rich and finding success in the city. Once he arrived at Andersen Willett, fresh-faced with his MBA, he knew he`d found where he belonged and set to work. That wasn`t being a workaholic. That was persevering toward a goal. "It takes hard work to succeed." "No one questions the amount of work you do or your success, Maxwell." He stared at his most recent award for being a top-rated financial analyst in the semiconductor industry. "I hear a `but` coming." "But there`s more to life than a job." His gaze met her clear, blue eyes. "You`re here almost as much as I am." "Someone has to look out for you." She looked away before he could respond. "Speaking of which, I`ll be right back." Kate stepped out of his office, returning moments later with a cup of coffee and a maple bar. The same breakfast he ate when he worked at the bank in his hometown during summer breaks. She placed them on his desk. "Breakfast is served." He sipped the hot coffee. Cappuccino. His favorite. Leave it to Kate. "I`m glad I have you to look out for me." She grinned. "How about a raise?" A smile tugged at Max`s lips. "How about half of my maple bar instead?" "I, um, have my own donut." "I thought you might, but I didn`t want to seem like an ungrateful boss," he admitted. Kate enjoyed food— especially chocolate. He liked that she wasn`t one of those women who constantly starved themselves to be rail thin. "Did you get one with sprinkles or nuts?" Pink tinged her cheeks. "Chocolate sprinkles."
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Max`s smile widened. Only Kate could make him feel like smiling when everything else was such a mess. And that gave him an idea. If anyone could solve his current dilemma, Kate could. What he wanted from her went beyond her job description, but her duties had expanded over the years to include personal errands, making dinner reservations for his dates and purchasing his gifts. This wasn`t that different. "Why don`t you close the door?" he suggested. Kate did and sat on the opposite side of his mahogany desk. He drummed his fingertips on his desk. "I need your help." She pulled out a small notebook from her jacket pocket. "What do you need?" "A wife." Her eyes widened. Her full lips parted. "Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning." Max didn`t want to blow this. The realization that he wasn`t the kind of man women wanted to marry stung, but he couldn`t let his ego get in the way. Not with so much at stake. He removed the mysterious letter from its envelope and handed it to her. "I received this in the mail yesterday. Read it." "Dear, Max…" Kate glanced up. "Max?" Maxwell sounded less country than plain old Max, even if it wasn’t technically his name. He gritted his teeth. "That`s what my family calls me back home." She continued reading. "Your mother doesn`t want to worry you or any of your brothers so please do not tell her about this letter, but I believe you should know the financial difficulties currently facing her. Over the years the Flying C has been assessed at the wrong tax rate. Back taxes of approximately $345,000 are due at the end of the month or the ranch will be sold. There is no way for your mother to come up with the money herself. She needs help. Your help. I urge you to fulfill the terms of your father`s will to receive your inheritance and save the ranch for your mother. Sincerely, a concerned friend." Kate handed him the letter. "Are you sure this isn`t some scam?" "I`m sure. I couldn`t reach any of my brothers, but I confirmed the information with my old boss at the bank. I can`t allow my mother to lose the ranch." “What about your brothers, can’t they help?" "Joe spent his inheritance on his late wife’s medical expenses and is living at the ranch now. Ryan is a cop and Sean is a cowboy on the rodeo circuit. None of them have that kind of money." Even with Max`s highpaying job, he didn’t have that kind of money, either. He tugged on his collar. "But my late father left each of us four-hundred-thousand dollars to be held in trust." Kate leaned forward. "That would cover the back taxes." "Yes, but a particular term needs to be met first, which is where you come in." "What term?" Kate asked. "I have to get married before I can claim my inheritance."
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"M-m-married?" He nodded. "It`s the only way to help my mother." "But you`ve never talked about marriage before." "I never really thought about it before," he admitted. "I`ve always assumed I would get married… someday. I`ll just have to move up my timetable a bit." She straightened and clasped her hands together. "And you want me…?" "I know this is asking a lot and goes beyond your job description, but I really need your help." He gave her an encouraging smile. "What do you say?" Kate took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Yes." Relief washed over him. "I knew I could count on you." "You can depend on me, Maxwell," she said with a curious intensity that warmed him and made him uncomfortable at the same time. "You can always depend on me." That was Kate—the best assistant in the world. Completely devoted to the job. To him. Max grinned. "So, you’ll be able to turn me into husband material and find me a wife in less than a month?"
Chapter Two Maxwell's smile crinkled the corners of his green eyes. "So, you’ll be able to turn me into husband material and find me a wife in less than a month?" For several seconds, Kate sat confused. She stared at him. At his stylishly cut brown hair all tousled and mussed from a night spent sleeping on his desk. At his handsome, smiling face waiting for her response. Realization hit. Hard. He wasn't asking her to be his wife. Maxwell wanted her to find him a wife. Her shoulders started to slump, but she straightened and pressed her lips together instead. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with concern. No. She wasn't okay. She'd just had her hopes raised, her dreams dashed and her heart broken, all in the space of a few seconds. But instead of telling him the truth, she hid her feelings the way she always had. Kate blinked back the tears stinging her eyes and nodded. "Allergies. You know how New York is at this time of year." He nodded. "You can do it, right?" The last thing she wanted to do was turn Maxwell Cooper into husband material for another woman. Not when she'd been in love with him herself for…well, years. Meeting men in New York was difficult. She'd tried and failed. But working with Maxwell, she'd found the kind of man any woman would want—dedicated, honorable, appreciative. Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. He liked her, respected her, depended on her. They'd been together for six years. How many of her friends could make the same claim about their boyfriends or significant others? Sure, he never seemed to notice she was anything more than his assistant, but she got to spend time with him and could dream of a happily-ever-after.
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But no longer. Now she truly would grow old alone. No doubt she would die in a dark, dank apartment with only eightyseven cats for friends and cupboards full of tapioca pudding. Of course she was allergic to cats and hated pudding, even the chocolate kind. "Kate?" His voice jolted her. "I, um, don't know how long it will take." Liar. Maxwell was already husband material. He only worked nonstop because he'd never found the right woman to make him want to forget the office. His heart-whole status had given her hope and fueled her fantasies about him. About them. "I have to be married by the end of the month or my mother will lose the ranch." He didn't want her. He didn't want marriage, not really. He wanted to help his mother. And though Kate respected his sense of responsibility, he was breaking her heart. "I know," she said. "I read the letter." "You will help me, won't you?" Just say no. She had agreed to be his wife, not find him one. Kate started to speak, and then stopped. What could she say? She'd never turned down one of his requests in the six years they'd worked together. "Something's wrong with me." The vulnerability in his voice squeezed her already aching heart. "I'm asking you to do the impossible, aren't I?" Yes, but not for the reasons he thought. Kate had devoted herself to him. Instead of accepting one of the better positions offered to her over the years, including a choice assignment with one of the company founders last week, she had remained Maxwell's faithful assistant. And for what? A few hours a day in his presence? And the chance he would return her love someday? Pathetic. She bit the inside of her mouth. "Not impossible," she said finally. "Unnecessary. Nothing's wrong with you." "Julia and Madeline would disagree," Maxwell said. "I'm the last man either would marry. Not even close to being husband material. At least that's what they said last night after I proposed." Kate gulped. "You proposed to…both of them?" "Not together," he explained. "Julia was available first. After she turned me down, I went over to Madeline's." The idea of Maxwell proposing was one thing, but knowing he'd already done so, twice, shattered Kate. The pain was jagged, raw. If one of his ex-girlfriends had accepted his proposal, would she have even known what was going on before it was too late? Too late for what, she wondered. "If dating Julia and Madeline didn't work out, how could a marriage?" Kate asked. Maxwell shrugged. "I figured they wouldn't mind if I wasn't around much." At least he hadn't mentioned love, but she needed to know even if knowing the answer would hurt. "So is this supposed to be a marriage in name only?” "I hadn't thought that far ahead," he admitted. "I'd rather not get a divorce." She tried to picture the woman he would marry. Surely not his overweight, plain-looking assistant or he would have proposed to her already. "So do you know what you want in a wife?"
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"I'm starting to think about it." He edged forward in his chair. "Do you have plans after work?" "No." Kate had no plans. She rarely did because she never knew if he wanted her to work late or not. "I mean, nothing important." "Then we can get started tonight. Dinner?" He assumed she would help, Kate realized, torn between indignation and despair. But why shouldn't he? She always had. She'd told him he could depend on her. She really couldn't go back on her word without explaining why. "I, um, guess so." "Great. I'm looking forward to seeing what you have to teach me." She hadn't had a date in years. She'd been too busy being there for Maxwell and loving him from afar. How was she supposed to teach him how to be husband material? "It should be interesting." He grinned. "I was an A student." "You were valedictorian." "Dedicated students R us." He winked. "I'm used to applying myself in any learning situation and doing my homework." Kate imagined the homework she wanted him to do. To her! Heat rose in her cheeks. She had to stop thinking about Maxwell like this. "You can make dinner reservations for us." He furrowed his brow. "You always do that." She wanted to hit him over the head—her sweet, yet clueless boss. Making reservations for his date du jour was one thing. No way was she going to do the same for the woman he would eventually marry. If he was serious about finding a wife—and she was horribly certain he was—it was time for Kate to retrain him and herself. No longer would she do anything and everything for him. "Husband material lesson number one— show the woman in your life that she's important enough for you to take the time to make plans yourself." Ever the eager student, he logged onto his computer. "I'll get right on it." "Great." But it wasn't, because all Maxwell needed to learn to be the perfect husband was to loosen up, stop working so hard and enjoy life. She could teach him that. Then he'd find his perfect woman, as thin and glamorous as Julia St. Claire and as eloquent and successful as Madeline Giles. And Kate would need to find another job. No way could she continue working for him and hear about his beautiful bride and happy marriage. She might be foolish because of her love for Maxwell, but she wasn't a masochist. "I'd better get to work. Work, work. Not finding you a—" She choked on the word. A wife. She rose, unsure how she would survive the day. Tonight. The rest of her life… "Kate?" Every instinct told her not to look back. She did, anyway. The gratitude reflected in Max's eyes made it difficult to breathe. No man had the right to affect her this way. Especially not her boss. "Thank you," he said, his appreciation as welcome as a co-worker's comment about her child-bearing hips. "I don't know what I would do without you." Unfortunately, Kate understood exactly how he felt. She didn't know what she was going to do without him in her life.
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Chapter Three Sitting with Maxwell at a candlelit table tucked away in the corner of a small but romantic restaurant, had been darn near perfect so far. It wasn't fair. Tonight’s dinner reaffirmed everything Kate knew in her heart to be true. She and Maxwell belonged together. Whether in the office or out of it, they were a seamless team— a perfect match. If only he saw it, too… His pager sounded. Again. A not-so-subtle reminder this wasn't a date but a lesson. Kate took a bite of her crème brulee. Maxwell glanced at the pager and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. The guy really didn't know how to act on a date. No wonder he could never keep a girlfriend for long. Not that she was his girlfriend or this was really a date, but she was still a woman and having dinner with him. Yet he treated her better at the office. As he started to dial, Kate snatched the phone from his hand. He stared at her. "I need to make a call." "You can wait until after dinner." "But—" "Husband-material lesson number two," she said. "It's rude and not at all husbandly to ignore your wife during dinner and make phone calls." "What if it's important?" "You said calls one through seven were important." His gaze shifted from his cell phone to her. "Do you care if I make another call?" "This isn't about me," Kate said, more for her benefit than his. "You asked me to turn you into husband material and that's what I'm trying to do. If you would rather I not—" "No. Please. Do whatever you need to do. I'm sorry." His sincere gaze made her feel tingly inside. "This is just going to be hard for me." Welcome to the club. "It'll get easier." At least, she hoped it would. "I’m sure it will, now that I have you." But he didn't have her. She sipped her ice water. Not the way she wanted him to have her. And worse, it was looking like he never would. *** Not returning calls during dinner last night had been difficult for Max, but he'd survived his lesson without any far-reaching consequences. This morning, however, was another story. In spite of what Kate said, a walk along a beach, on a Thursday no less, was not going to turn him into husband material. He wouldn't be a good provider if he let business languish, now, would he? But that's exactly what he was doing. Ignoring work. Quarterly earnings were about to be announced by several of the companies he covered. A presentation for institutional investors was due on Friday. Kate, of all people, should understand. But instead, she'd foiled every attempt he'd made to contact the office. "Could I at least have my phone back?"
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"No." She walked through the water, kicking at the waves like a little kid. She carried one shoe in each hand and had rolled up her jeans, but the water still drenched the hems. "I brought you to Long Island so you could get away from work." "I'm away from work." Far, far away. And hating every minute of it. Max stepped around a wave rolling to shore. He could only imagine what disaster needed his attention. He couldn't believe he had allowed Kate to take him away this morning when she'd shown up in tennis shoes, jeans and a T-shirt. "I really need to check my voice mail." She splashed him with her hands and he jumped back, just avoiding getting saltwater on his dry-clean-only pants. "Loosen up a little." "I'm loose. I ditched my tie, my shoes and my socks. See?" He raised them in the air. "I even had a beer at the clam bar. I never have a drink during lunch." "Maybe you should call Julia and Madeline and see if that's enough to change their minds about marrying you." He frowned. "That's not funny." "Come on." Kate splashed him again. "We have a reason for playing hooky. But instead of taking your husband lesson seriously, you're only proving you’re a workaholic. Have you even noticed where we are?" "We're at the beach." "It's not just the beach. Look at the blue sky with the white puffy clouds." She closed her eyes and stretched out her arms. "Smell the salt in the air. Feel the heat of the sand beneath your bare feet." Forget the beach. He wanted to watch her. Kate's well-worn jeans accentuated the curve of her hips. Her yellow T-shirt stretched tight across the front, hinting at the treasure that could be found underneath. But it was the carefree expression on her sun-pink smiling face that mesmerized him. "Forget about having an office on the sixty-fourth floor with a view," she said. "This is what life is about." She looked so relaxed, so free. Such a dichotomy from the woman he knew at the office. And he didn't like it. He didn't like thinking of Kate as anything but his hard-working assistant. Company policy frowned upon romantic relationships within departments and prohibited them between bosses and subordinates. He wasn't about to do anything that would cause him to lose her. Or jeopardize their careers. She opened her eyes. "Can't you at least try to have some fun? For your mother's sake?" He stopped staring at Kate, abruptly reminded of the reason for the excursion. This wasn't about him. This wasn't about Kate, as pretty as she looked with her fresh face and her windblown hair. He was here because of the Flying C ranch and his mother. Time was running out. He had to find a wife. So he tried. For the rest of the day, he didn't ask to call the office or to check his pager. He didn't worry about market fluctuations, quarterly earnings, economic forecasts and equipment orders. He concentrated on learning to be husband material. And somewhere between building a sand castle complete with a moat and eating a hot fudge sundae, he no longer had to try. The fun had sneaked in. When they returned to the city, he planned on grabbing a fast-food dinner and working at the office, but Kate's invitation for a homecooked meal had him sitting in her apartment instead. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had cooked for him. Unless he counted his mother. "Dinner was great." He wiped his hands with his napkin. "Thanks."
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"You're welcome." "Not even my mom makes meatloaf like that," he said. Kate was as efficient and talented in the kitchen as she was in the office. "And those chocolate chip cookies melted in my mouth." "Comfort food is my specialty." She smiled wryly. "I guess you can tell." Was she actually concerned about her weight? She looked fine to him. Better than fine. "Well, I'll take your comfort anytime." He realized how that must have sounded. Not good. He couldn't allow a hint of impropriety. "I mean, food. Comfort food." She smiled. "Anytime." Max wanted to take her up on the offer. This new side intrigued him. After working together for so long, he thought he knew everything about Kate Reynolds. He'd been wrong. She was dependable, hardworking, had an eye for detail and could handle any client who called. But today he'd learned she was also funny, adventurous, didn't mind getting her hands dirty and an amazing cook. Those turquoise glasses of hers finally made sense, too. She clasped her hands together the way she always did at the office. "Do you have any questions?" "Questions?" "About today," she explained. "How to enjoy the moment and not worry about what's waiting for you at the office or who left a message on your voice mail." He'd forgotten today was a husband-material lesson. Funny, but it felt more like a…date. The thought gave him a start. He'd never thought about Kate as anything more than his assistant. Doing so would be…wrong. "I stopped thinking about work today and had fun if that's what you want to know." He expected her to reward him with one of her light-up-her-face smiles, but the corners of her mouth barely curved. "Will I find you asleep at your desk tomorrow morning?" Going into the office tonight seemed less important. He'd rather stay here. Max glanced at the clock. Ten. Where had the time gone? He rose from the table. "The only place I'm going is home." His apartment was bigger than Kate's with brand-new leather furniture and an amazing stereo system and a state-of-the-art flat panel screen TV. But he was rarely there. And now he realized why. His apartment was a place to store his stuff and sleep. Kate's apartment was a home. The feminine and cheery décor was as welcoming as its owner. Everywhere, he caught glimpses of her—from the multicolored wood frames surrounding family photos to the yellow, green and orange plaid and striped pillows on the comfortable couch. Even the floral scent from a bowl of potpourri seemed to say Kate. She stood. "You deserve a good night's sleep in your own bed." What about her bed? Max wasn't sure where the thought had come from—probably all the earlier musing about her apartment furnishings, but still… What was he thinking? This was Kate. Not some woman he met in a bar or at a meeting or… "Do you want to call a cab?" she asked. "It's not that late." He was still coping with the realization that he had thought about taking Kate—Kate his assistant, super-efficient, helpful Kate—to bed. Not that he would…
Chapter Four
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Kate opened the door of her apartment. "I had fun today." Max realized she was showing him out. It was ten o'clock and time to go home. All he had to do was say goodnight and be done with it. That was the logical thing to do. But he didn't want to say anything. He wanted to kiss her instead. He couldn't. This was Kate. Sure, he'd always found her attractive in a girl-next-door-best-friend kind of way. But she was directly under his supervision. That meant untouchable. A kiss would be unethical. Against the rules. A way to lose her. Kissing her was definitely not an option. "Maxwell?" But the way she said his name and glanced at him through her eyelashes made him want to exercise that option anyway. How come he'd never noticed how pretty she was before? Or that her eyes were the color of the sky at the beach? Or that she seemed to be waiting for him to do…something? He felt himself drawn to Kate, to her full, oh-so-kissable lips… Say good-night before you do something you'll regret, he thought. He'd asked for her help to find a wife. He couldn’t repay her by hitting on her. But there was more to it than that. Think. Andersen Willett Employee Code of Conduct. Think. Managerial Training and Avoiding Sexual Harassment in the Workplace Training. Think. Lawsuit. It wasn't worth the risk. Not for either one of them. Max straightened. "Good night." She bit her lip. "Do you want to have another lesson tomorrow after work?" Spending more time with her was the first thing he wanted to do, but the last thing he should do. Still, he couldn’t forget about his mother and the Flying C. He'd just have to be careful around Kate. "Sure." "Great." She smiled. "I'll see you in the morning, then." "In the morning," he echoed. Not only would he spend the day with her at the office, but the evening, too. He would have to be extra careful around her. Too much was at stake to allow this sudden attraction to get in the way. He'd never had trouble getting his thoughts and feelings under control before. And now, with the ranch on the line, Max had more reason than ever to concentrate on the job at hand. He couldn't think about kissing Kate. He had to focus on the business of getting a wife. What had Kate said? He needed to loosen up, relax, have fun. He had had fun today. A lot of fun. But how come he felt anything but relaxed right now? * * * As Kate strolled down the hallway at work early Friday morning, she fought the urge to skip. Even though she hadn’t slept much last night, she hadn't felt this good in…well, ever. Yesterday with Max had been the best day of her life. And had changed everything. Depositing her bag and picnic basket under the desk, she glanced at Maxwell's office. The door was ajar and he bent over his desk. At least he didn't look as if he'd spent another night there. That was a step in the right direction. And she hoped the dinner she'd stayed up preparing until the wee hours of the morning would be another. She straightened her ponytail and smoothed her navy skirt. "Good morning, Maxwell." He was at her desk before she had time to sit down. Strange, but he usually waited for her to come to him. Maybe things would change between them at the office, too. A warm glow flowed through her. "I'm so glad you're here early," he said. She hadn't mistaken the desire in Maxwell's eyes before he'd said goodbye. The bud of hope she'd clung to through the night blossomed. She might have a few—okay, more than a few—pounds to lose, but she was attractive, intelligent, a great cook and loved Maxwell Cooper with all her heart. What more could he want in a woman? Or a wife? He had to marry someone. Why not her? Kate smiled. "I'm glad you're glad."
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She waited for him to say something about the wonderful time he'd had yesterday or notice she wore her best suit or ask about the plans for tonight. "I need a presentation typed up by eight, a breakdown of the latest orders by nine and the letters in this morning's mail," he said instead. Ignoring the twinge of disappointment, Kate nudged the picnic basket farther under her desk to keep tonight's dinner plans a secret. Time to work, not play. "No problem." "This is for the presentation," he said. "The files are on the server." As he handed her a two-inch thick manila folder, his fingers brushed her hand. Tingles shot up her arm and she sucked in a breath. Maxwell's startled gaze met hers. "Sorry." Had he felt it, too? Her pulse quickened at the thought. "It's okay.” He cleared his throat. "About tonight…" The thought of the two of them having a picnic sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. "Yes?" He shifted his weight. "We've got so much to do, I doubt we'll make it out of here in time for dinner." Her heart jolted. "I don't mind eating late." "I'm sorry, Kate." He set his jaw. "It's just not going to work out." Normally, she would have just nodded and said okay, but not today. Things had changed between them. She wasn't about to go backward. Kate met his gaze directly. "You need to eat dinner." "I'll be fine," he said. "You can order takeout for yourself." She didn't need to order anything. She had an entire meal packed in the basket at her feet, but a picnic in the office didn't sound as romantic as one in the Hudson River Park. "I made dinner. For us." A vein in his neck flicked. "I didn't know." "It was going to be a surprise." A beat passed. "What did you make?" "Fried chicken. My grandmother's secret recipe," she added. "But I can order takeout for you." "No," he replied quickly. "I mean, you went to all that trouble. The least I can do is eat it." For once, Kate held the upper hand where Maxwell was concerned. She liked how it felt. "What about our lesson tonight?" His mouth narrowed. "I don't—" "I baked chocolate cupcakes for dessert." The interest gleaming in Maxwell's eyes gave her the impetus to take a chance. She adjusted her glasses. "What if I let you eat my home-cooked dinner if you let me give you a lesson after work?" His lips parted, then a slow smile spread over his face. "I never thought you were capable of blackmail, Kate." She tilted her chin. "I'm capable of quite a lot." "I'm learning that." Her confidence soared. "Is that a yes?"
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"Yes." He raised an inquisitive brow. "I can't wait to see what else you've got up your sleeve." Neither could Kate. All she needed was the opportunity. And the courage.
Chapter Five "Dinner was delicious." As they walked through the park that ran from Chelsea Piers down to Battery Park, the temperature hot and the air humid, Maxwell rolled up his sleeves. "So what's my lesson for today?" Oh, no. Kate forced her feet to keep moving. She hadn't planned a lesson; she had planned a date. "Kate?" "Look around you," she said, trying to think of something, anything. People were out and about enjoying the Hudson River Park before the sun went down. Jogging, walking hand-in-hand, pushing high-tech strollers. At the sight of a man, woman and baby, an ache started in Kate's stomach and pulsated outwards. That's what she wanted—a family of her own. She glanced at Maxwell. "If you were out with your wife, what would you be doing?" His forehead creased. "Talking like this isn't enough?" "No, it's fine, but are there any little things you could do to make the time together more…" "Fun?" he suggested. "Memorable? Romantic?" "All of the above." "Do you want me to tell you or show you?" he asked. Oh, my gosh. Is he going to hold my hand? She wet her lips. "Either." "How about both?" He grinned. "An A student. Remember?" She nodded as they strolled past an ice-cream vendor. "Let's see." He picked a dandelion from the grass. "I'd start with something a little silly like this." He held the flower under Kate's chin. "Does she love me?" The air whooshed from her lungs. She knew this wasn't for real, but still… Maxwell studied it closely. "Very interesting." She swallowed. "W-w-what does it say?" "Only that you like butter." Kate grinned. "Actually, I love butter." And you. Maxwell handed her the dandelion. "Your turn." She held the flower under his chin. As a yellow spot reflected on his skin, the warmth of his breath caressed her hand. She glanced up at him. The tenderness of his gaze made her want to stay like this forever. "So do I or don't I?" he asked finally. "You do." Her voice sounded strange, husky. She waited for him to look away. He didn't. This was her chance to show Maxwell what she really wanted. Still she hesitated. Scared. Excited. Unsure. Do it now. Before it's too late, she thought. She had nothing to lose. Except his respect, her job, her heart. Kate inhaled sharply and kissed him. On the lips. The moment her mouth touched Maxwell's, he tensed. Mortified, she drew back. But he reached for her, pulled her toward him and kissed her back. Hot, moist, male. As his arms encircled her, his mouth pressed against hers with an urgency she had only dreamed about.
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Wow! Double wow!! She couldn't believe this was happening. Her knees trembled and she splayed her hands on his back, the ridges of muscles beneath her palms. For years she'd imagined Maxwell's kisses, but nothing could have prepared her for the real thing. More satisfying than fried chicken, more tempting than chocolate cupcakes. Her heart fluttered. Her pulse skittered. Sensations rippled. Heat pooled. Kate felt as if she'd just begun to feel, to see, to live. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss. A kiss that hinted of things to come. Kate couldn't wait. She leaned into him, wanting more, so much more… * * * Nothing had prepared Max for the power and passion of Kate's kiss. The world around them stopped: children playing in the park, boats sailing on the Hudson, traffic rumbling on the west side highway. It was only the two of them touching, exploring, kissing. Returning her kiss broke every rule in the book. Stopping was the only thing that made sense. But the moment Kate's lips had touched his, Max's common sense had disappeared faster than shares of a hot IPO. She wove her fingertips through his hair and showered kisses along his jawline. He wanted—no, needed— another taste of her. Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he reclaimed her lips. Sweet-oh-so-sweet. Kate pressed her lips against his with an urgency and hunger that matched his own. A moan escaped her lips. The sound sent his already heated blood roaring. What little control he had slipped another notch. Something nudged between them. Something hard. "Max?" Kate muttered, not removing her lips from his. He glanced down. A dog, a yellow Labrador, tried to separate them with its nose. Talk about bad timing. Max pulled away from Kate. An elderly couple hurried up and pulled the dog's leash tighter. The old man, wearing a Yankees cap and Mets T-shirt, smiled. "I'm sorry. Trixie always gets jealous when she sees me kissing the missus like that." "Stop telling tales." The white-haired woman with rosy cheeks swatted his thin arm. "I told you to keep that dog of yours on a shorter leash." "Sixty years of marriage and she's still telling me what to do." The man laughed. "We'll be on our way. You two get back to what you were doing." That sounded good to Max. No, not good. Not good at all. He stared at Kate. Wide-eyed, flushed cheeks and swollen lips, she looked utterly and thoroughly kissed. He was a jerk. He brushed his hand through his hair. This was Kate. Kate Reynolds. His assistant extraordinaire. One of the main reasons for his success at Andersen Willett. Too valuable to risk losing. Too sweet to risk hurting. Yet he'd just crossed the line. Who was he kidding? He'd jumped ten feet over the line without a second thought. He stepped back. "I shouldn't have done that." "I'm the one who kissed you." She had. Why had she? Her reasons didn't matter. He was responsible for letting things get out of hand. "But I kissed you back," he said. "And I'm…I’m your boss." She pursed her lips. "I'm not planning to run straight to Human Resources if that's what you're worried about." "It's not just that," he admitted. "You are important to me. I wouldn't want our kissing to interfere with our ability to work together." Kate drew her brows together. "You're concerned about our working relationship?" Of course he was.
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"You’re my assistant, Kate. The best I've ever had." His gaze implored her. "I wouldn't want to do anything to screw that up." She stared at the ground. "And the kiss…" "Was my mistake," he said firmly. Even though it had felt so right, so…perfect. Whether Kate complained to HR or not, Max knew hitting on his assistant—his young, single, beautiful assistant who cooked like an angel and kissed like a dream—was just plain wrong. An abuse of his power and her trust. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." "I'm sorry, too." Because she'd kissed him? Or because it could never happen again? Max pulled himself together. He couldn't go there. He was her boss. He had to do the right thing—the only thing—for both their sakes. *** The kiss wasn't a mistake. Maxwell could lie to himself, but he couldn’t fool Kate. And if he believed he didn't need any husband-material lessons this weekend, so be it. Sooner or later, he'd figure out what was really important in life. With or without her help. She was finished trying to anticipate his every need. She had her own needs to worry about. By Saturday morning, things had become much clearer. Kate was happy she'd gone after what she wanted. She had no regrets about that impulsive kiss in the park. She probably should have done it a long time ago, but no going back. From now on, she was only looking forward. Looking and moving forward. Kate stared at the work clothes strewn over her bed. Beige, navy, black. Every neutral piece mixed and matched. Talk about boring. No bright colors, no originality, nothing that said Kate. Picking up a boxy navy jacket, she sighed. Sensible and professional. The cut hid those extra pounds when her weight fluctuated and was easy to wear. Just like her ponytail. She tossed the jacket on the bed and removed the rubber band. Hair cascaded past her shoulders. She had accused Maxwell of having no life, but she was just as guilty. Kate had been too busy working and building his career and loving him from afar to do anything for herself. She' become what she thought he needed and wanted her to be—an efficient, sensible, hardworking assistant. Only here, in her apartment, could she be herself. But no longer. Kate owed that to herself. Walking out of her bedroom, she stopped at the doorway and glanced back. It was time to say goodbye. It was time to show everyone at Andersen Willett the real Kate. It was time…to go shopping.
Chapter Six Over the weekend, Max reviewed his husband-material lessons. Time was running out for the Flying C ranch and his mother. Unfortunately, this latest development with Kate only complicated matters. He still couldn't stop thinking about her and their kiss. More than once he picked up the telephone, but hung up before dialing her number. Kate hadn't agreed with his canceling the husband-material lessons for this weekend, but he knew they needed distance. He couldn't put them in another potentially romantic position. The consequences were too great. Plus, Max had to find a wife. Without Kate's assistance. Monday morning, he was ready to face whatever challenge arose. With the determination of a warrior intent on the enemy's front line, he attacked the contents of his inbox. "Good morning, Maxwell." He glanced up from a financial report and did a double take at the beautiful woman in a lime green fitted jacket and short skirt. The style flattered her hourglass shape, taking advantage of her voluptuous curves and full breasts, and showed a lot of skin. He'd never seen so much of her legs before. "Kate?" As she walked toward him, Max noticed the way she jiggled. He squirmed in his chair and glanced at her feet. New shoes—high-heeled pumps that showed off her long legs—had replaced her sensible flat ones.
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"Did you have a nice weekend?" she asked with a polite smile. She acted as if today was no different than any other day. But it was. She was. He forced his gaze away before he started to drool. Max cleared his throat. "Yes. Did you go…shopping?" As she nodded, her pasther-shoulder-length strands of auburn hair shimmered. Soft hair meant for running fingers through. "And your hair?" "I decided to try something new." She tilted her chin. "Do you like it?" Like didn't begin to describe what he thought. He swallowed. Hard. But then he remembered her wind-blown ponytail and how the escaped tendrils had framed her face when they were at the beach. "Yes, but I like your ponytails, too." She studied him for a moment, then placed a folder on top of his inbox. "I have your travel plans for SEMICON West." He caught a whiff of something exotic. Not her normal flowery scent. What was going on? Not that it mattered. His thoughts about her were inappropriate. He had to stop. Now. "Thanks." She smiled. "I forwarded you links to some articles you'll want to read." "Okay." Something else was different about her. Her eyes. Same sky blue, but they stood out more. Makeup, he realized, but it wasn't just that. "What happened to your glasses?" "I've had contacts for ages, but never wear them at work." Max missed her turquoise frames. He missed her. Sure Kate-the-sexy-chick was hot, but so was Kate-his-fresh-faced-assistant. The realization made him feel even more unsettled. He didn't want to think of Kate as hot or even a woman, just his assistant. The way it had been before. "Why?" She stared at him, a smile on her lips and a challenge in her eyes. "I thought it was time." "Time for what?" Her smile tightened. "A change." "You don't need to change. You're…" Perfect, he thought. "Fine the way you are. Were." "Maybe 'fine' isn't good enough." She placed his schedule for the day on his desk. "Maybe I want to show more of the real me." "The real you is inside." He'd discovered it for himself over the past week. "It's always been inside you, Kate." "Well, now it's time for it to come out." She motioned to his schedule. "You have lunch with a reporter from the Financial Times, a presentation at two and the monthly staff meeting at four-thirty. Your computer will remind you." Thorough as always. She was still his Kate. Correction, his assistant Kate. "Do you have anything for me?" she asked. Oh, yeah. Stop before it's too late. Max wet his lips. He still felt the effects of their kiss, and now he was feeling the effects of her. Time to put an end to his husband-material lessons and get their relationship back to the comfortable place it had once been. "Why don't you sit?" She did and readied her pen and notebook. "What's up?" Her skirt, that's what. The hem inched up her thighs. Not all the willpower in the world could keep him from looking at that peek of thigh. He wanted to tell her something, but couldn't remember what. "Maxwell?" Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead to keep a headache from exploding. "Are you okay?" The tender concern in her voice tugged at his heart.
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Heart tugging was not allowed. He opened his eyes and squared his shoulders. "Let's do this later. I just remembered I have a conference call." "It's not on your schedule." "It just came up." She rose. "Later, then." As she walked out of his office, the sway of her hips hypnotized him. Get a grip, Cooper. Max glanced at the digital stock ticker scrolling by on his monitor, but he couldn't comprehend a symbol or number. All he could see was Kate. Beautiful, sexy Kate. Pretty, sweet Kate. He wanted them both. Trouble, big trouble. Max owed it to his mother and to the Flying C ranch not to do anything stupid, but most especially he owed it to Kate. She deserved so much more than he could give her. *** Kate expected some reaction from her co-workers about her new look, but their positive responses overwhelmed her. She wasn’t used to so much attention and had forced herself to just say thank-you and not blush when anyone complimented her. Including Maxwell. She smiled. He liked the new her, but he still liked the old her, too. The real you is inside. It's always been inside you, Kate. His sincere words had wrapped around her like her grandmother's quilt. Yes, he had his priorities mixed up, but she'd always known there was something special about him. This past week had proved it. Her love for him had grown from what she now recognized as a crush and hero worship to something stronger, more real. If only things could be different for them…. The telephone rang. Her extension, not Maxwell's. "Kate Reynolds." "Good morning, Kate," a man's deep and cheerful voice bellowed through the receiver. "It's Connor Andersen." He was a company cofounder who had offered her a job two weeks ago. A position she'd turned down. "Mr. Andersen." Kate's heart hammered against her chest, but she managed to keep her voice calm. "What can I do for you?" "I'd like to see you in my office this afternoon at two-thirty." "Okay." But it wasn't. Not by a long shot. Was Mr. Andersen upset over her not taking the job? Had someone seen her kiss Maxwell in the park? Was she going to be reprimanded? Or fired? Was he? Suddenly, a new her had a totally different meaning. One not so appealing. Kate gulped. "Would you mind telling me what this regards, Mr. Andersen?" "It's Connor," he said. "I respect your loyalty to Cooper, but I still want you to be my executive assistant, Kate. Is that what you need to know?" Not fired. Good. She blew out a puff of air. "Yes." "Right to the point. I like that about you," Connor said. "Just so you know what you're walking into, I'm not going to make it easy for you to say no this time." Did she want to say no again? Did she want to turn down a high-profile promotion to look after Maxwell while he looked for a wife? No. She deserved more. But this change was more serious than shortening her skirt or letting her hair down. And, Kate realized, she was more than up for it. Anticipation rippled through her. "I'm looking forward to it, Connor."
Chapter Seven At three o'clock, Max followed two of the company's newest fund managers out of the meeting room. As they neared mahogany row—where the founders, general partners and managing directors had offices—one
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manager elbowed the other. "I'd like a piece of that," Scott Parsons muttered under his breath. Max couldn't see who he meant, but the guy's suggestive tone spelled trouble. Not to mention a total disregard for company policy, a lack of respect for co-workers and unacceptable behavior from someone in his position. "You want to share?" Eric Richardson asked. Scott laughed. "You think there's enough for both of us?" Curiosity got the better of Max. He glanced over their heads and saw Kate with her back to them. They were talking about Kate. His Kate. His temperature shot up. His blood pressure spiraled. Muscles bunched and knotted. A protective instinct roared to life. He wanted to punch someone—two someones. Don't lose control, Cooper. She's worth it, but they aren't. Max took a deep breath, three actually. "I don't know what the corporate environment was like where you came from, but here at Andersen Willet, we respect employees like my hardworking, brilliant assistant over there." He pushed his way between the two pea brains and strode toward Kate. She spoke with a very pregnant, very glowing Danielle Freed, the executive assistant to Connor Andersen. Max waited for Kate to notice him. She didn't. Funny, but she was normally so attuned to him. "Kate," he said finally. She straightened and turned. "What are you doing here?" "The presentation, remember?" "Oh, yeah," she sounded preoccupied. "That graph you added at the last minute was a huge hit." He smiled. "Made several of the higher-ups take notice." The corners of her mouth lifted. "Good for you." "Are you heading down?" "Yes." She waved the folder in her hand at Danielle. "I'll talk to you later." "One day we'll be working up here," he whispered, walking Kate to the elevator. "An office on mahogany row. Can you imagine?" She nodded. "Maxwell, we need to talk." "I know." This wasn't the best time or place, but he wanted to get it over with. Inside the elevator, he pressed the button for their floor and the doors closed. "I wanted to tell you that I've been reviewing my husband-material notes." "You took notes?" "A student, remember?" Max expected a smile. He didn’t get one. The muscles in his shoulders tensed. She watched the floor numbers decrease. "It's not so clear-cut." "True, but I'm finished with the lessons." He needed to save the Flying C ranch, but he also needed to stop these crazy feelings about Kate. As soon as he got married, things between them would return to normal. They had to, right? "It's time to find a wife." The corners of her mouth tightened. "You need to find her yourself." "I know, and I've already started," he explained. "I created a spreadsheet with information about each wife candidate to make sure I choose the correct one."
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"Oh, Maxwell." Kate sighed. "You're one of the best analysts on Wall Street, but you don't have a clue unless it relates to economics, the Dow or NASDAQ." He drew his brows together. "What do you mean?" "You research information to rate a company's stock performance—buy, sell, hold and all the variations inbetween—but you can't use the same process to pick a wife." She bit her lip. "What are you going to do? Downgrade each of the women on your list until only one is left?" Her words ripped his logically conceived method in two. He raised his chin. "That was the plan." The elevator stopped, the doors opened, but no one stepped inside. The doors closed. "A wife is not a commodity," Kate said. "She's the woman who will wake up next to you every morning, who will be the mother of your children, who will grow old with you." "I understand that, but I have to be realistic." Max shifted his weight uneasily. "I'm not looking for true love. Just someone I can grow to love over time." "No." Kate's lower lip trembled. "You have to follow your heart, not pick out a wife as if you were buying a new car and hope it's what you need over the long haul." "Desperate times call for desperate measures." "This shouldn't be a desperate choice, Maxwell." Sweat broke out on his forehead. He couldn't allow his mother to lose the ranch, but what would be the price he paid? Spending time with Kate had given him a glimpse into what a couple—what a husband and wife— could have together. Yet finding that with someone took time. Something he didn't have. "What do you suggest?" A beat passed. And another. Kate flipped her hair behind her shoulder and stared into his eyes. "Marry me." The air whooshed from his lungs. Her proposal was an invitation into Heaven and a ticket straight to Hell. He stared at her. Stunned. Grateful. Confused. The elevator stopped on another floor. The doors opened and three people entered, talking about a hit reality TV show. He felt as if his chest might explode. Who cared what bozo was going to be kicked off the show when the most important person in his life had just proposed. Marry me. Was she serious? No, she had to be kidding. But the way her gaze held his, he wondered. Marry me. Kate would be a great wife. He knew that with pulse-pounding certainty. She was caring, nurturing and an amazing kisser. She took care of everything and made life easy for him. Time after time, she'd worked to make him shine in the spotlight not wanting any credit except a simple thank-you. If he hadn't known what he wanted in a wife before, he knew now. Marry Kate? She was willing to sacrifice so much in order to marry him. But Max couldn't ask her to do that. He wasn't husband material. She deserved an equal in the area of romance and relationships. He also knew how focused she was on her career—all those late nights and weekends. She thrived at work as much as he did. Sure, she could find another position, but he couldn’t ask her to do that. He didn't want to. Selfish as it might be, he needed her in his office, not in his bed. Though, he had to admit, that was an appealing thought, but not enough for him to want another assistant. Surely she would understand. The elevator stopped and the trio exited.
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"So what do you say?" she asked him once the elevator doors closed. "Will you marry me?" Her lighthearted tone contradicted the anticipation in her eyes. Emotion, an unfamiliar mix of regret and guilt, clogged his throat. He was doing the right thing, the only thing. "I'm flattered, Kate. Any man would be. But you deserve better than a guy like me." "Isn't that for me to decide?" "You're too valuable to me," he countered. "If we got married, you couldn't be my assistant." "So I'm too valuable in the office," she said carefully. "That's it, right?" The disappointment in her voice hit harder than a thousand-point drop in the Dow. Max hadn't wanted to hurt her, but he wasn't going to lie either. "Yes." "You are not an A student, Maxwell." Anger flared in her eyes. She grabbed a pen from her notebook and scribbled a giant F across his piece of paper and shoved it at him. "You failed your husband-material lessons. Miserably." "You're important to me, Kate," he said. "I’m not going to let you throw away your career for me." "It's a job, Maxwell, my job." She pursed her lips. "Nothing else." "It's more than that, Kate." He wanted to convince her, needed her to agree with him so the gnawing anxiety in his gut would disappear. "We're in this together. You and me. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you." She tilted her chin. "You'd better figure it out because I'm no longer your assistant." "No. You can't quit." His mind reeled. His stomach clenched. Max had never considered the possibility that Kate would leave him. "What will you do? Where will you go?" "Mahogany row," she said. "I'm Connor Andersen's new executive assistant."
Chapter Eight The pained expression on Maxwell's face made Kate turn away from him. Nothing had worked out the way she'd planned—not telling him about her new job, not her well-intentioned, woefully misbegotten proposal. She'd only ended up hurting him and being hurt herself. Kate grimaced. They needed to talk, but not here. She walked toward her desk. Maxwell didn't want her help, not when it came to his personal life. He wanted her to be his assistant, period. She had resigned herself to it this past weekend. Today she had accepted it. A good thing, too. He'd been correct about one thing. She deserved better than a guy like him. A week ago she might have been satisfied marrying him to help save his mother's ranch and not care if he loved her, but no longer. Kate knew what she wanted—true love, requited love and a happily-ever-after. She wasn't about to settle for anything less, not with Maxwell or any other man. At her desk, she turned to face him, but he wasn't there. Maxwell hadn’t followed her back. Her chest tightened. Where could he be? *** What was he going to do without Kate? Max stood frozen in the elevator. He couldn't move his feet, couldn't do anything but watch her walk away as the doors closed. He exited at the next stop.
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I'm Connor Andersen's new executive assistant. Kate's words reverberated through Max's head. Anger and disbelief gave way to numbness. As he walked into a mass of desks and noise, the air buzzed with energy. Max recognized the drive and ambition on the determined young faces surrounding him. He'd pulled Kate from a similar bull pen to be his assistant six years ago. Kate. A heaviness settled in the center of his chest. She'd made it to mahogany row. Instead of congratulating her as any proud, happy boss would, Max had acted—was acting—like a spoiled, jealous child who'd lost his favorite toy. Kate had achieved her goal, and he still thought only of himself. He hung his head. Max walked farther into the sea of desks. A man, about thirty, sat behind one and smiled. "Nice call on Intel." "Thanks." Max extended his arm and shook the man's hand. "Maxwell Cooper." "I'm John Hill." He gave Max a cigar-shaped chocolate tied with a pink ribbon. "We just had a baby last week. Her name is Eva." "Congratulations." Max stuck the cigar in his shirt pocket. Kate would like it. Kate. An instant, squeezing hurt gripped his heart. He ignored it. "Thanks." "Do you have any kids?" John asked. "No." Max noticed the pictures lining the edge of John's cluttered desk. "How many do you have?" "Four." John's telephone rang. "Keeps me on my toes." As the man answered his phone, Max looked at the pictures. A pretty blond woman with a baby. Two smiling children eating ice cream. A family portrait. A funny, tingly sensation grabbed hold of his stomach. Nothing on his desk suggested he had a family, let alone a mother, three brothers and a nephew. Nothing in his office suggested he had a life outside of work. Because…he didn't. The truth hit with the force of a sucker punch to his gut. Max had a job. A job he'd allowed to take all his time. A job he'd allowed to define him. A job he'd allowed to be his only priority. Talk about a pea-sized brain. There were smarter horses at the Flying C. Kate had tried to tell him, tried to teach him, tried to help him. But he hadn't listened. He hadn't understood. Until now. Suddenly, everything was so clear. He was losing his assistant, but he could be gaining something so much better. Max rushed to the elevator. He knew exactly whose picture he wanted sitting on his desk. He just hoped it wasn't too late. Max found her, more beautiful than ever, sitting at her computer. Hair up or down, glasses or contacts, Max didn't care. He just wanted her. "I thought you might want this." He placed the chocolate cigar on her desk. "It's chocolate." "T-thanks." She bit her lip. "I'm sor—" "Please. Not yet." Max had made so many mistakes already. He wanted to do this right. "Do you have anything official about your job transfer?" Concern filled her eyes. "No." "I need you to write me a resignation letter or an intent to transfer letter." His heart pounded in his throat, yet his voice remained steady, strong. "Something official saying you'll no longer be under my supervision."
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She raised a brow. "Now?" He nodded. "Please bring it into my office when you're finished." As she typed, Max stood in his office, counting the seconds until she appeared. Two minutes later, she entered holding a piece of white paper. His blood pressure rose. He leaned against his desk. "Come in and close the door." She did, handed him the paper and sat in her usual chair. "Thanks." Max read it, a feeling of contentment and destiny rising inside him. He placed the paper on top of his inbox. "Now we can talk." "I didn't mean for you to find out about my new position that way." The words tumbled from Kate's mouth. "I was upset and not thinking straight." "That makes two of us." "I can't use that as an excuse." Her eyes glistened. "I'm so sorry, Maxwell." How could he have not realized the depth of his feelings before? "You have nothing to apologize for, Kate. I'm happy for you. You deserve this." She leaned forward. "Really?" "Yes, really." Her smile lifted him up. He needed that, needed her. "I'm the one who's sorry, Kate. For six years, I've taken advantage of your skills, your intelligence, you. I never gave a thought to your career, only my own. Can you forgive me?" "I forgive you, Maxwell." Her words gave him the strength to continue. "I'm also sorry for being such a poor student. In spite of an excellent teacher, I had my priorities all screwed up by putting work ahead of everything—everyone—else. Thanks to you, I learned there is more to success than a fancy title, an office with a view and a high salary." He watched her straighten. "I deserved an F after today's performance, but I hope you'll give me another chance to show you I can be husband material. Your husband material." Her eyes widened. "I want to marry you, Kate." He dropped down on bended knee and held her hand. "I want you to be my wife." She jerked her hand away. "You only want your inheritance." Max didn't blame her for not believing him. He'd hurt her. Badly. But he wasn't about to go down without a fight. "I need the money to save my mother's ranch, but you are the only woman I want to marry. You are the only woman I love." Kate's mouth formed a perfect O. "And I don't need a spreadsheet to tell me that," he added. "Just my heart." She blinked. "I love you, Kate Reynolds, but was too focused on my job to see it. I was so worried about the consequences, I forgot about the benefits." He pulled her up with him. "But with your transfer so clearly stated in the letter, ethics and company policy are no longer issues. Nothing is standing in my way. Our way."
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Max lowered his mouth to hers, pressing against her lips with an aching need. She leaned into him, into his kiss, and he felt her heart beat against his chest. The rapid beat matched his own. He wove his fingers through her soft hair. He wanted the kiss to go on forever, but there was time, plenty of time for more. Slowly, reluctantly, he drew the kiss to an end. "Will you marry me?" he murmured into her ear. Her warm breath caressed his neck, but she gave no answer. His heart rate sped up even more. "Kate?" "Just a minute," she whispered. "I've been in love with you for so long, Maxwell Cooper, I just want to savor the moment." Kate loved him. Him. He held her away so he could see her face, glowing and full of love. "I didn't know." "No, you didn't." Kate grinned. "It's been quite aggravating." The anticipation was killing him. "Is that a yes?" "Yes!" She raised her chin. "I would be honored to be your wife." Excitement rushed through him and settled around his overflowing heart. "It's going to have to be a short engagement." "I know." Kate winked. "Danielle is due at the end of the month and Connor wants us to have time to transition." He brushed his lips over the top of her head. "I love you, Kate Reynolds." "And I love you, Max Cooper." "Max?" he asked. Laugher gleamed in her eyes. "Maxwell is too stuffy for someone whose job is no longer his entire life." Max pulled her into his arms. "I couldn't agree more."
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A Little Mischief by Kasey Michaels
Three years is a long time to pine. Jessica Sunshine has watched the producers of her television show moon over each other for three years, each totally oblivious to the other one’s feelings. Sarah Jenkins has been funneling all of her attraction for here boss into her work, making her a crack assistant producer, but a lousy seductress. The timid Kevin Mulhally has taken Sarah’s professional cue and resigned himself to keeping his distance from Sarah, even going so far as to only calling her by her last name. After three years, enough is enough and Jessica has a plan to get these two to open their eyes and their hearts. Because if there’s one thing a Sunshine sister knows, it’s mischief….
Chapter One Sunshine sisters Jade, Jolie and Jessica are out to prove that their ex-cop father did not murder anyone and then take his own life. Their stories are told one by one in (so far) Dial M For Mischief (Jolie’s story) and Mischief Becomes Her (Jessica’s story, available now from HQN). Still to come will be 24 Hours of Mischief (Jade’s story) next spring, and the last in the series, Mischief Old/Mischief New, in which we’ll all travel back to Becket Hall, scene of the seven Kasey Michaels bestselling historical romances for HQN about the Beckets of Romney Marsh. Whew! That’s a lot, right? There are always stories within stories, little snippets, additional characters, and two of these people show up—just peek their heads in and wave, really—in Mischief Becomes Her. Kasey thought it might be fun to give them A Little Mischief of their own. Enjoy! *** There he went again, drooling all over Jessica Sunshine. Are you comfortable, Jess? Got a good view of the teleprompter, Jess? Jess, do you want some more ice in that water? It was enough to make Sarah gag, but only because she couldn’t gag Kevin Mulhally, who was yet again doing his All Hail Jessica routine as they counted down to another segment of the Sunday-night cable-TV show The Sunshine Report. “Don’t look now, Kev,” Sarah said into her headset, knowing the producer could hear her, “but we’ve got a show to get back to in less than ten seconds.” She watched, a half smile on her face, as Producer Kevin snapped-to and got back to work.
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“Jess? Heads up there, kiddo. We’re back to you in five.” Kevin held up his right hand and went silent for the rest of the count. Four, three, two, one… Jessica Sunshine, her professional stone-face set, waited a single heartbeat after Kevin pointed a finger at her and then smiled into the camera as if delighted to see her audience. God, Sarah thought—not for the first time—the woman was gorgeous. Freaking gorgeous. “And welcome back,” Jessica said smoothly, pushing a lock of her blond hair behind her ear. “Again, tonight’s special live segment of The Sunshine Report is devoted to this reporter’s personal tragedy, the loss of my father, retired police detective Theodore Sunshine, and the accusation that he murdered the wife of front-running Philadelphia mayoral candidate, Joshua Brainard, before taking his own life. And I’m here to tell you, folks—that accusation’s a bunch of horse hockey pucks.” “And she does it again,” Kevin said as he joined Sarah in the control booth. “’Hello, aren’t I sweet, aren’t I cute, come closer so we can chat,’ and then—bam—she socks them all in the chops.” “Looking for another Emmy, Kevin?” Sarah asked, and then mentally slapped herself upside the head for putting her foot in her mouth as she watched camera two pan across the small portable stage to Jolie Sunshine, Jessica’s film-actor sister, and Jessica’s guest for the show. “You’re right, though, she’s terrific. And I do feel sorry for her and her sisters. It can’t be easy, wondering if your own father is a murderer.” “Yeah,” Kevin said, “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. Hey, Jenkins, you hungry? I didn’t have time for dinner tonight. You want to go grab a burger somewhere once we’re done here?” Jenkins. He called her Jenkins. Not Sarah. Did he even know her first name? Three years as his assistant producer—a nifty title for a glorified gofer—and he still called her Jenkins. Would he even recognize her if he saw her outside of their work environment? She wouldn’t take odds on that bet. But, hey, this was new. Ask her to pick up a sandwich for him? Sure, that happened—often. But to actually ask her to join him for dinner? Sarah began mentally composing tonight’s entry in her diary: Dear Diary, looks like the world is about to end, or maybe pigs will fly. One of the two… “Sure, Kevin, that sounds good,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage, watching him as he spoke into his headset, calling for close-ups, warning of the coming commercial break. He was so gorgeous. Not movie-star gorgeous or sports-star gorgeous. He was geeky gorgeous. No, not geeky. Brainy gorgeous. Yeah, that was it. His blond hair was too long and a little shaggy, but he didn’t pay two hundred dollars every two weeks to keep it that way; that was just the way it grew. And those eyes, those great, big, puppy-dog brown eyes that were usually hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses because he was always too busy to bother with his contact lenses, or he
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forgot to carry his rewetting drops, or he forgot he was wearing the lenses and rubbed his eyes and one of the lenses popped out. So adorable. And smart! Smart was such a turn-on, at least for Sarah, who wasn’t exactly a slouch in the brain department herself. Again, not that anyone noticed—probably because she’d been standing behind the door when the social skills were being handed out. “We could try that new diner right off I-95,” she said as they went to commercial a few minutes later. “Pardon me?” Kevin pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. “Diner for what?” Sarah sighed. Men and their five-minute attention spans. Jeez. “For burgers. After the show. You asked me. Ring any bells, Kev?” “Oh, right,” he said, and then he smiled. That sweet, sexy, lopsided smile that had been the first thing she’d fallen in love with when she’d come to work for the station. “Thanks for asking me, Jenkins, I am hungry. That sounds like a good idea.” He turned back to the control panel and Sarah rolled her eyes as she got to her feet, knowing she had to get back onto the broadcast floor. “You’re welcome.” Jessica Sunshine was taking off her cordless mike as Sarah approached her. “Great show, Jess,” she said, having heard only half of it. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.” Jessica began to thank her in that way people just automatically say thank-you. But then she stopped, looked at Sarah. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you graduate with honors from Columbia?” “Summa cum laude, yeah,” Sarah said, feeling hot color run into her cheeks. Yeah would have been enough. “Why?” “Because that means you’ve got a brain, which I noticed the first day you came to work on this show. Would you mind if I use it a little tonight? You don’t have anything planned, do you?”
Chapter Two “No, I wouldn’t mind helping you out tonight,” Sarah said, mentally canceling the dinner with Kevin that she’d been dreaming of for three years, knowing his next invitation would come in, oh, less than a decade. “What do you need?” Jessica shrugged. “That’s the problem, Sarah. I don’t know. Which is why I want you, not just anybody. Could you… Could you go through the video archives somehow, checking for stories on my dad, on Joshua Brainard—some other names I’ll give you right now? My dad was working four cold cases when he died, and I’d sure love to see anything we’ve got on any of them.”
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“Sure. Go ahead and shoot.” Sarah pulled a pen from behind her ear, turned over a page on her clipboard and took down the names and cases. “I’ll get everything I can find and have it all burned onto a DVD for you. When do you need it?” Jessica shrugged again and made a face. “Yesterday?” “I’ve got a brain, Jessica, not a time machine,” Sarah said, softening her words with a smile. “But I’ll see what I can have for you by tomorrow afternoon, all right? I’ll messenger it over to that address you gave me the other day. In care of Samuel Beckett, right?” “Right, that’s where we’re staying, thanks to some creep trying to burn down our house. So, how’s it going with Mr. Oblivious over there?” “Kevin? I could walk through the studio naked and he wouldn’t notice.” “He’d notice if you didn’t show up one day. You’re too good at what you do, Sarah. You make his life so easy he doesn’t even realize how indispensable you are to him.” “On the job,” Sarah pointed out, sighing. “But personally? How does he need me personally?” “How’s he going to know that if you don’t tell him?” Jessica looked over at Kevin, so Sarah did, too. “Scuttlebutt is that one of our producers is up for a promotion, which means a move to the Atlanta station. Could be Kevin, right? If you’re going to make your move, Sarah—or find a way to have him make one—it had better be soon.” Sarah felt like the bottom had just dropped out of her stomach. “Atlanta? As in Georgia?” “See?” Jessica said. “I knew you had a brain. A brain that might still be in New Jersey when Kevin’s in Atlanta. Unless you stop wishing and hoping, and start doing.” “What do you suggest, Jessica? I tackle him?” “See that handsome guy over there?” she said with an inclination of her head. “Next to my sister and the guy she’s hanging on to for dear life? That’s homicide lieutenant Matthew Denby. Matt. I’m going to tackle him. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to do it. You see what you want, Sarah, you know it’s right for both of you—and you go for it.” “Uh-huh,” Sarah said, biting her lip as she looked from the good-looking man near the doors to Kevin, who had loosened his tie and opened the top button on his white dress shirt. Yum. “How? Kevin is half in love with you, you know.” “No, he’s not,” Jessica said, laughing. “I’m the talent. Producers are paid to fawn on the talent. But I’m sure you’ll think of some way to—wait a minute. I’ve got an idea. Kevin? Hey, Kevin!” At Jessica’s call, Kevin excused himself from the cameraman he was speaking to and walked over to join them. “Problem? All right, sure, a little one. I’ll tell Madge to go a little easier on the makeup. Sarah, you’ll do that, right?” “It’s on the top of my to-do list,” Sarah said, and then added under her breath, “That’s why I went to college, to write reminders to the hair and makeup tech.”
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Jessica must have heard her, because she laughed quietly. “Don’t worry about the makeup, Kevin. But I do have a huge favor to ask of you.” Jessica then repeated, nearly word for word, everything she had just asked Sarah to do for her, including needing the information ASAP. “Sure, no problem,” Kevin said. “I want to help you and your sisters with this. And not to be insensitive and mention ratings, but I know if you—when you crack those old cases and this thing with your father, we’re going to get a hell of a show out of it,” Kevin said. Sarah realized not only was she out one face-to-face dinner with Kevin, she was out of the helping-Jessica game. Surprise! “Jenkins?” Kevin said, turning to her. “You’ll help, right? We’ll go grab a burger and then head for the archives. It’s going to be a long night.” As he walked away—not waiting for her answer—Sarah turned to Jessica. “You knew he’d ask me to help. You are one sneaky woman, Jessica Sunshine. Do you give seminars?” “Yes. I am good, aren’t I?” Jessica patted her cheek and then opened the top button of Sarah’s plain blue cotton blouse. “There you go. And good color choice, the blouse matches your eyes. Here’s another hint—go grab Madge before she packs up her bag of tricks and let her work on you a little. Oh, and take your hair out of that damn rubber band while you’re at it. Men don’t get subtle. You’ve got to hit them over the head with things sometimes.” “Figuratively, right? Hit him over the head figuratively.” “You’ve considered other options?” Jessica winked at her even as she waved to her sister that, yes, she was coming. “Oh, let me count the ways,” Sarah said, sighing. “You really think I can seduce him? Kevin?” “Sarah, sweetheart, I’m counting on it. Oh,” she said, slapping a hand to her forehead, “I just forgot something I wanted to tell Kevin about that hotline we set up for people to call in with information about the cold cases. Go, Sarah, grab Madge before she leaves. I happen to know that she has been dying to get her hands on you and those gorgeous blue eyes for a long time.” Sarah watched as Jessica went over to Kevin and pulled him away from the crew he was talking to, leading him over to a corner and leaning close to say something to him. Kevin looked toward Sarah, but Jessica quickly put her arm around his shoulder and turned him away from her, still talking rather earnestly to him. What was going on? Better question—did it matter in light of what Jessica had just told her? Kevin could be leaving the station soon, and she couldn’t let him do that before he at least learned her first name. “Madge,” she called out, waving to the makeup tech. “Yo, Madge, hang on a minute….”
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Chapter Three Jessica Sunshine didn’t know what she was talking about. Kevin decided this as he kept his gaze on the menu, not reading a word, but only thinking back to what Jessica had said to him not half an hour earlier back at the studio. Sarah was in love with him? Was the woman nuts? Sarah Jenkins didn’t even like him. Well, maybe she liked him. Tolerated him. After all, he was her boss. But loved him? No, that was impossible. She’d never shown any sign of loving him, not that he’d know what any of those signs were. She came in, she did her job—did it masterfully—and then she went home again. What else could he think but that she wanted a purely professional association with him, like she had with everyone at the studio? So he’d attempted to keep their relationship strictly professional. But some nights they worked pretty closely together on the control boards, and he’d go home with the lingering scent of her freshly shampooed hair clinging to him, driving him crazy. More than once they’d reached for the same control button at the same time, and her touch had sent signals straight from his fingertips to all of his erogenous zones at the speed of light. Her voice, coming to him most of the time through his headset, had the power to invade his dreams. Which was pretty pathetic, considering that most of the time those words were about as romantic as a commercial for grout cleaner… Removes mold, mildew, leaving your shower clean and shiny. Hubba-hubba. Oh, he was pathetic. He was just pathetic. Sarah was smart—brilliant. Too smart to remain an assistant producer for much longer, way too intelligent to be playing backup to him and pretty enough to be in front of the camera. And tonight she looked even more beautiful than usual. Kevin didn’t know what it was, not exactly, but there was something different about her eyes. She had great eyes, blue as a morning sky, but tonight they seemed even brighter. And she’d pulled off that rubber band she always wore at the station to keep her hair out of her eyes. Now the soft, light brown hair fell sleekly to about shoulder level. As he watched, she swept half of it back behind her ear when it tumbled into her face as she read her menu. He’d like to do that. Push back her hair, that is. Tangle his fingers in it, feel its softness…. “I never knew there were so many different ways to make hamburgers. I think I’ll play it safe and have the California burger and maybe some seasoned fries. What about you?” Kevin put down the menu. “Sure, fine. Sounds good to me. So, Jenkins, you don’t mind coming back to the station?” “Me? No, it’s fine with me. You?” “No, no plans for anything. I’m good with it.” “Good. That you’re good with it, I mean. I’m good with it, too.”
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“Okay. Uh…good.” Somebody should be taking down this scintillating conversation for posterity, or maybe to put it in a “How to Converse with a Beautiful Woman” manual, under Examples of how to ensure that this is your first and last date, you hopeless dweeb. Sarah picked up her glass and aimed the straw at her mouth. Kevin watched as she closed her lips around it and sucked her cheeks in slightly as she drew on the red-and-white-striped plastic tube. The color matched her lips. When did she start wearing red lipstick? She let go of the straw for a second and ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, capturing a clear, errant drop of soda, and then took the straw between her lips once more. X-rated soda sucking. Kevin coughed into his hand and reached for his own glass, nearly knocking it over. He hoped she didn’t notice. He looked out the window, but since it was dark now, all he could see was his own reflection. Funny, he didn’t look like a man on the verge of having a stroke. Why had Jessica said anything? When had Jessica even noticed that he was carrying a torch for Sarah? Such an old-fashioned term, carrying a torch, but Jessica had used it, and now it was in his mind and he was similarly stuck with it. Probably better than the alternative: hot to get into her pants. Kevin choked on his own saliva and began to cough again, one hand to his mouth, his eyes beginning to tear. “Are you all right?” He held up one hand until he could speak. “Fine, Jenkins. I’m… I guess there was a bone in my soda.” “You haven’t had any soda yet, Kevin,” Sarah pointed out to him. See, he knew she was smart. He didn’t think she watched him that closely, though. “No? How about that. Ah, here’s the waitress. You go first, Jenkins.” The waitress took their orders and then it was just the two of them again. Awkward. Silence had never been so loud. “So, Jenkins,” he said at last, grabbing for any subject. “Did you hear about the big shake-up that’s coming down in Atlanta?” “No, I can’t say that I have,” Sarah said, once again tucking a lock of hair behind her left ear. And maybe avoiding making eye contact with him? No, why would she do that? “On-camera or behind the scenes?” “Our end,” he told her, wondering how much he should say. “I hear they could be pulling a few people from our station to go down there, step in as producers for the morning show. Have you, uh, have you been contacted?” Sarah shook her head. “You?”
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“No,” he said, knowing he was lying. He’d been contacted all right. He’d been contacted and asked what he thought about Sarah Jenkins as a possible full producer in New Jersey. If he told the truth, he’d probably be promoted to Atlanta in two weeks, with Sarah taking his place here. If he said she was okay—not great, not terrific, just competent—then he’d stay where he was. Here. With Sarah. Who would lose out on a chance to be a full producer. The term for what he was thinking, what that thinking made him, was selfish, no-good rat bastard. That he’d also be losing out on a huge promotion meant nothing to him. Not compared with leaving Sarah.
Chapter Four Sarah sat back against the dark blue faux leather of the booth. “Well, I’m sure if it’s true—that they’re looking—you’ll be on their short list. I mean, you did win that Emmy, right?” “I didn’t win it alone, Jenkins,” Kevin said, and then grinned, beginning to relax. Why, he didn’t know. “You were there at the ceremony. Remember when I thanked all the little people who helped?” “I do. And, as one of the little people, I now thank you. And I still say that if they pick any of our producers to go to Atlanta, it should be you. You’ve paid your dues here in Jersey.” “Me? What about you? I think you’ve set a new record for longevity as an assistant producer. No, it’s your turn, Jenkins, definitely. You’ll like Atlanta. And you’d be closer to your family, right?” “Like they’d pass over someone like you for a lowly assistant producer. My family? They’re in Sarasota, yes. I didn’t know you knew that.” Of course he knew that. He’d read her personnel file. Twice. One more time and he could qualify as a stalker. He was saved from having to explain how he knew about her family by the arrival of their burgers. For the next several minutes they both concentrated on their food. And Kevin concentrated on Sarah. Twenty-eight, single, lives alone in a small condo in nearby Basking Ridge. Hobbies: reading and running. Quarterly reviews all exemplary (they should be, he did them), no incident reports, no reprimands, no tardiness or absenteeism. Shows initiative, takes direction well. If she could wag her tail and fetch the morning newspaper in her teeth she could be a dog for all that told him. What he wanted to know was if she would taste as good as she smelled; if she would melt in his arms or push him away if he was crazy enough to try to kiss her…. If she’d smile if he suggested they might want to think about a deeper relationship—or laugh at him. “Kevin?” He blinked behind his wire-rim glasses, realizing that he’d done it again, gone off into la-la land instead of paying attention to the here and now. It was very possible that one of them
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could be gone in two weeks, and now he was wasting the opportunity he’d rehearsed in his head for the past three days? He was pitiful. It was time to make a move. Kevin took off his glasses and put his elbow on the table, the glasses dangling from his fingertips. “Yes?” he said, looking into her eyes. “Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted coffee or dessert,” she told him, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “But now I feel I should point out that you just put your elbow in the ketchup.” Smooth, Mulhally, real smooth. “Damn it!” He lifted his elbow out of the ketchup he’d squeezed onto his plate for his fries, as Sarah wet the corner of her napkin in her water glass and grabbed at his wrist. “Hold still you big baby, it’s not toxic,” she said, dabbing at the greasy red glob. He watched as she worked on the material, her hand still gripping his wrist. Her hair had fallen across her cheek again and she gave a slight shake of her head to get it out of her way as she concentrated. “There, all better,” she said, but as she let go of his wrist he slipped his hand down and caught her fingers in his grasp. It was now or never. He turned his hand slightly, so that the back of her hand was uppermost, and slowly brought their joined hands closer to him, close enough to kiss the back of her hand. “Thank you, Sarah,” he said, gazing across the booth and looking deeply into her eyes. What did he see there? Shock? Confusion? Had he just blown it, big-time? After all, suave wasn’t exactly his middle name. “You, uh, you’re welcome, Kevin,” she said, sounding just a little bit breathless, unless that was just wishful thinking on his part. Just then the waitress—obviously at the end of a long shift, with her feet hurting and her powers of observation dulled—slapped down the check and said, “Youse two lovebirds want to take it somewheres else? We close in five minutes.” Still holding Sarah’s hand, Kevin relaxed in her presence probably for the first time since she’d become his assistant producer. He felt the corners of his mouth beginning to turn up into a smile, and a laugh started to bubble to the surface. Sarah’s initial look of surprise had also somehow morphed into blue eyes twinkling with humor, and she pulled a face at him as she squeezed his hand. “So? Youse ready to blow this here burger joint?” she asked in her best Jersey accent.
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The bill was seventeen dollars and change. Kevin put down a twenty and tipped the waitress a ten, and he and Sarah laughed all the way to the parking lot. He held open the passenger-side door for her, something he hadn’t done on their way to the diner. She thanked him, looking up into his face, her eyes still glittering, and then gracefully slid into the front seat. He knew. She knew it. They both knew the other one knew it. They might be on their way back to the station to see if they could help Jessica Sunshine. But if they’d left the station as coworkers, they were returning to it as more, with the chance of much more…. *** The station was fairly dark, the live on-air reporting done for the day except for thirty-second live news breaks. Only the graveyard shift was still at work, taking up a small corner of the main studio. Rick La Donna waved to them from his seat behind the curved on-air desk as one of the crew loaded the teleprompter with the first of several short promos Rick was recording as teasers that would play most of the following day. As a journalist and reporter, Rick made a great doorstop, but he had a great voice, fabulous hair, a winning smile and nobody could look more sincere than Rick. He could make a grocery list sound important. “How’s it going, Prima Donna?” Kevin asked as he and Sarah walked by on their way to the flight of metal stairs that led to the various tape and editing rooms, as well as the archives. “Got any late scores? The Mets and Phillies played tonight on ESPN.” Rick rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t retain what I say. That way lies madness. Somebody had a grand salami, whatever that is. Sounds kind of kinky to me.” “For which team? Who hit it?” “You don’t listen, do you, Mulhally? Hi, Sarah. Still refusing to marry me?” “Yup. I couldn’t hope to compete with your own love for yourself, Rick, you know that,” Sarah told him. The reporter laughed and said she was right, damn right. “He’s asked you out?” Kevin asked as she retrieved her clipboard and they clanked up the metal stairs. He held open the door to the upstairs suites. “He’s only joking, Kevin, he does it all the time,” Sarah told him, pretending not to notice that he’d opened the door for her—just as he had the car door, both leaving the diner and when they’d gotten back to the studio.
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In between, they’d both been pretty quiet, with Sarah silently blessing whoever had come up with the idea of installing car radios so that they could each pretend they were listening to the greatest hits of the seventies. “You only think he’s joking,” Kevin told her as they stopped off at his office to grab his laptop. “I happen to know he keeps a personal scorecard in his office where he checks off every female in this place he’s—you know.” “Boinked. Yes, Kevin, I know,” Sarah said, moving ahead of him to open the door to the archive storage room—which meant three doors for him, one for her. For some reason she was keeping count. “I’ve never liked being part of a crowd. Plus, he doesn’t appeal to me. You know…that way?” “What? You have a thing against great hair, a salon tan, shiny pearly whites?” “He’s too perfect, that’s the whole thing,” Sarah said, wondering why on earth they were talking about Rick La Donna. “Plus, he knows it. I prefer someone who isn’t so wrapped up in how irresistible he is. I think Rick lives his entire life as if there’s a camera on him at all times. Oh, and he’s dumb as a summer squash. There’s also that.” Kevin laughed, and Sarah felt some of her nerves go as they, without discussing it, took up their seats in the cool, fairly dark room, lit mostly by computer monitors. Sarah sat at the computer already set up to search the tape archives, while Kevin grabbed a blank CD and inserted it into one of the computers used exclusively to download requested file footage. They’d had that from the beginning—this personal radar that told them where to go, what to do, what the other wanted or needed, how to divide their tasks and keep everything running smoothly. They were a well-oiled machine when they worked together. She’d always wondered how they’d fit together outside of the work environment. So far— awkward silences aside—she thought they might be doing pretty well. Where there was life there was hope, right?
Chapter Five Sitting close—very close—beside her in the archive room, Kevin picked up Sarah’s clipboard and looked at what she’d written on the top sheet. “Jessica gave you the list of things to research, too?” Well, damn, she shouldn’t have let him see that. Summa cum laude, huh? Clearly there were still lapses in her education. Like in the area of stealth, for one. “What? Oh, that? I, uh, I took notes during the broadcast. I had this, uh, this idea that maybe I could help Jessica in some way, you know?” “You’re a good person, Sarah.” Okay, a 4.0 in Lying 101. It was a start.
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“I’m just glad to help,” she said, and then inwardly winced at her Mother Theresa impersonation. “Plus, if Jessica breaks one of these cases, our ratings get a big boost. You’re not the only one who’d like to get out of Jersey and onto the big show in Atlanta some day.” Kevin put down the clipboard. “Right. Atlanta. So you would like to catch that producer job that’s opening up on the morning show?” “I’m not qualified, Kevin. I’m not even a full producer here yet. But, hell, sure I’d like it. I mean, who wouldn’t want a chance like that?” Me, she screamed inside her head in answer to her own question. Me, me, me, if it meant leaving you, you big, dumb jerk. “I wouldn’t,” Kevin told her as he took his own notes from his pocket and unfolded the sheet on the long laminate tabletop. “I like the team I’m working with now.” Yay, team! “We do have a good crew,” Sarah agreed. “Come to think of it, I would miss you.” Where did that come from? Thinking this stuff? That was fine. Saying it out loud? Oh, way to go, Sarah, scare the guy off why don’t you…. She shot a quick look at Kevin, who was punching his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose—except they hadn’t slid down it, had they? Was he nervous? She made him nervous? Cool. “So, you don’t put ambition above, uh, friendship?” “I guess not,” Sarah said, unable to keep from reacting to that word—friendship. Is that how he saw them? As friends? Oh, golly whiz, didn’t that make her heart go all a-flutter. The jerk. Despite what he’d just said, he could be gone in two weeks. Sure, he’d taken a step tonight. A baby step. Which meant at the rate of one small step every three years, she’d be signing up for Medicare before the guy made his Big Move on her, at which point she’d be much more in the mood for maintaining a high level of fiber in her diet. She turned back to the screen and typed in the name Theodore Sunshine. She could search by date, keyword, name or type, and she’d have to try all of them. But she’d start with his name, as that would pretty much cover everything on a man who hadn’t exactly been a public figure. A list of references showed up on the search screen. Kevin scooted his chair closer to hers and leaned toward the screen. “Okay, Jessica’s father. Good place to start. What have you got?” “Let’s see,” she said, clicking on the first entry. “Okay, archival footage of Philadelphia Police Lieutenant Theodore Sunshine being honored by the mayor for meritorious service for apprehending one Julius Renatta, who was in the process of robbing, at gunpoint, a state
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liquor store on Vine Street. Wow, and he was off duty at the time. That explains the airtime for the story. The hero angle.” She turned to Kevin, not realizing that the move put her almost nose to nose with him. “Uh…do you think Jessica would like to have a copy of that? It doesn’t pertain to what’s going on now, or any of the cold cases, but it’s sort of nice.” “Your hair smells good,” he said, almost as if talking to himself. “Like lemons, maybe?” “Lemongrass shampoo, actually. I’ve been using the same shampoo for years.” “I know,” he said, pushing his chair back a little, putting some space between them. “I don’t know why I said that. You were saying…?” “I was done saying, actually. But I think maybe we could make up—” “Two CDs,” Kevin finished for her, as they both did for each other all the time. “One with the information Jessica hopes we find, and then another, with just personal memories. We could—” “We could save the second one for when this is all over and surprise her with it. Not now, though. Now it might just upset her.” “Exactly what I was thinking.” Kevin reached for another blank CD, opened the case and inserted the disk in a second recorder. “What else have we got?” Sarah tried to get her mind back to business. It wasn’t easy. “Okay, another commendation listed here. Wow, and a third, all of them over a dozen years old. Jessica has a right to be proud of her father.” Kevin leaned closer once more, putting the tip of his finger against one of the lines on the screen. “What’s this one?” Sarah pretended not to notice that his arm was an inch from her left breast. She leaned closer—head only—and read the words, “’Theodore Sunshine injured in line of duty.’” “Didn’t Jessica mention something about that on her show tonight? He had to retire from the force, which is when he started his business called the Sunshine Detective Agency?” “One of the sisters worked with him. Jade, the oldest, I think. Ugh, and now it gets nasty.” She forgot how close Kevin was to her as they began reading the most recent news, watching the tape on Teddy Sunshine. As stalker, killer, disgraced cop and finally his alleged suicide. “Don’t include any of our on-air stories, Sarah,” Kevin told her after they’d watched several of them. “We’ve got Teddy Sunshine all but tried and sentenced in these reports.” “The Prima Donna looks particularly outraged about the cowardly murder of Melodie Brainard, doesn’t he? Outraged, but also very well groomed.”
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“That’s why they pay him the big bucks,” Kevin said. “Of course, he also sounds all excited when he gives the sports scores, and the guy wouldn’t know the difference between an offensive lineman and a quarterback.” “I do,” Sarah told him. “About ten million dollars a year, right?” Kevin grimaced and made a circular motion with his hand. “Keep scrolling, smart-ass.” The last clip was from the funeral. Sarah felt tears stinging behind her eyes as the camera panned the faces of the three Sunshine sisters as they left the church arm in arm. “They look devastated. Lost. I’m glad we’re doing something to help them, Kevin.” “Notice the total absence of police presence,” he said as the tape rolled on, the scene switching to the cemetery. “Three commendations, injured in the line of duty and forced to retire—and then nothing. Yeah, Sarah, we’re doing a good thing.” He reached in front of her again and typed in a command that sent a copy of the funeral footage to the first CD. “You’re giving that to her now?” “Better now than on the second CD as a crappy follow-up to the commendation ceremonies. I think that’s about it for Teddy Sunshine. Who do you want to try next?” “I’d search for Jolie Sunshine, but we both know what would happen if I did that.” “We could shorten the parameters to the past couple of weeks. But you’re right. The emphasis would probably all be on Jolie Sunshine, movie star, not Jolie Sunshine, daughter. Same for Jessica. What about Jade?” “I can try her,” Sarah said, already typing, but the only hits she got went straight back to those they’d seen on Teddy Sunshine. “Guess it’s time to move on to the cold cases?” “We could,” Kevin said, sighing. “How about some coffee first?” “Sure,” Sarah said, automatically rising, as part of the more important duties of the assistant producer was making the coffee. But Kevin must have meant that he was going to make the coffee, because he stood up at the same time and they sort of collided, caught between their two chairs. They just sort of stood there in the dark, inches apart, partially lit by the computer screens. It wasn’t moonlight, but it was sort of romantic. “Oh, sorry, Kev.” “No, my fault.” She pointed in the general direction of the door. “I’ll…I’ll just go…”
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“No, that’s all right. I’ll… Sarah?” She swallowed with difficulty because her heart had somehow gotten lodged in her throat. “Yes?” “Would you…” he raised his hands, lightly cupping her upper arms. “Would you mind very much if I kissed you?”
Chapter Six Sarah bit her lips together, quickly running her tongue against them, but her mouth had gone so dry the effort was probably wasted. She could only give quick, silent thanks that she’d taken the thick slice of onion off her California hamburger. “Uh…no, I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me….” She felt his breath against her cheek as he exhaled, as if waiting for her answer before he could breathe, and then he lowered his head to hers. Slowly. Agonizingly slowly, until she wanted to grab him by the ears and aim him in the right direction. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips finally touched hers and a thrill ran through her body. His kiss was light, almost tentative, and it was the sexiest, most arousing kiss she’d ever experienced. He kissed her as if he cared, as if he had thought about it for a long time and wanted to get it right. Not crowd her, not overpower her, not impress his will on her, and with no intent to arouse and conquer. It was just a kiss. But it was also so much more than a kiss; it was everything…. Behind her eyes, Sarah could swear she saw fireworks exploding, bright colors flashing out signals that— She opened her eyes, and then put her hands on Kevin’s shoulders and pushed him away from her in alarm. He slipped his hands to her waist, pulling her toward him again, but she shoved at him again. “The lights, Kev. Somebody’s blinking the lights.” She knew that he instantly understood what that meant. With someone in the studio on-air or recording around the clock, there was no public-address system at the station. When something big happened, lights installed in each room blinked red, white and blue to announce breaking news, which also meant all hands on deck. Kevin took her hand. “Let’s hope Rick isn’t hiding up here in one of the offices catching up on his beauty sleep. Let’s go,” he said, heading for the main studio. He stopped at the door leading to the stairs and turned to face her. “You okay?”
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“That depends. Are you going to kiss me again sometime in the next three years?” “Count on it,” he said, and then they rushed down the stairs, joining the weekend skeleton crew in the main studio to hear that a small plane had just gone down near Newark. They all knew what was next—it would be flat-out live coverage for at least the hour. The next thing they heard was a strangled curse as Rick La Donna slipped into his fourhundred-dollar leather-soled designer slip-ons (the ones with the tassels), and went head over heels down the metal steps behind them, landing squarely on his main “talent.” *** “How bad id it?” Kevin kept his expression as bland as he could as Rick lifted the bloodied handkerchief from his nose to ask his question. The guy’s nose looked like he’d just gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champ. “Not too bad,” Kevin lied as he avoided looking at the evidence that, yes, a person’s nose could actually bend into a right angle. “And it’s hardly bleeding anymore, so that’s good.” “There’s blod all oder my thirt. And I dink my fron tooth id loose. Oh, shid, there doez a cab,” Rick said, spitting a porcelain crown into his palm. “Your front teeth are capped, Rick?” Kevin said, trying not to grin. “Wow, I didn’t know that.” “Fundy man,” Rick said, and turned to head back to the men’s room. “I cand do the on-air.” “No shid,” Kevin said, slicing his fingers through his hair. He looked over at the weekend graveyard-shift producer, who was not looking so good himself, and then to Sarah, who had taken charge. She had a film crew already on the way to the crash site, had grabbed someone else to find file tape and facts on past small aircraft crashes in the state and had already added a news alert to the crawl along the bottom of the screen, announcing the crash. She’d even asked someone to pull up weather reports for the Newark area over the past five hours. She was calm, cool, collected—nothing about her voice or demeanor showing any hint of panic that could upset their small crew. And all while the chair behind the news desk remained ominously vacant. He could call in Nancy Haas, due on-air at 6:00 a.m., but she and her husband had a place in Beach Haven and went there every weekend during the summer. It would take her at least an hour to get to the station, and they didn’t have the luxury of that kind of time. They needed to go live the minute the crew got to the crash site. He looked at Sarah again. Damn, she looked good tonight. Not that she wasn’t always beautiful. But tonight she was wearing makeup, and her hair was down. And she was smart. Whip-smart. Thinks-fast-on-her-feet smart.
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He made a decision. “Sarah,” Kevin spoke into his headset, “get ready to go on-air.” He pulled the headset away from his ear at her rather high-pitched response, and then waited as she made her way across the studio toward him, stripping off her own headset as she came. He did the same, deciding she was right; nobody else needed to hear what they had to say to each other right now. “Go on-air? Me? Are you out of your mind?” “You’ve got another suggestion?” he asked her, fighting an insane urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. Was it the fire in her gorgeous eyes? Was it the way her chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath that simple cotton blouse with the two top buttons open? Was it just because he was in love with the woman, damn it? “Yeah, I’ve got another suggestion,” Sarah said, not sounding very loverlike herself, he noticed. “Kick the on-air straight to Atlanta. Let them speak with the crew on-site via satellite.” “Can’t,” he told her. “I just found out the satellite’s down for the next half hour. Just a half hour, Sarah, until the satellite comes back up, and then we can send it to Polly in Atlanta. Thirty minutes. You can handle thirty minutes.” “No, I can’t,” she said, her complexion going strangely pale beneath Madge’s makeup job. “You don’t understand, Kevin. I just can’t.” He took hold of her arm and drew her behind the screen used for the weather maps, and turned her to face him. “What am I missing here? We’ve got a situation, Sarah, you know that. Everybody does what they have to do.” “Fine. You go on-air. Not me.” She was blinking furiously, and he could actually feel her trembling beneath his hands. “It’s just talking to the camera, Sarah. I know, there will be no teleprompter, just whatever notes we can get together, so you’ve got to wing it. But I’ll be in your ear from the control booth, feeding you anything I can think of, and the on-site guys will carry most of the half hour. Come on, we’ve only got two minutes until Atlanta throws it to us.” “Kevin, no. I…I tried, okay? I always wanted to be on-air, not behind the scenes. Reporting is what I wanted to do. Producer is what I can do. I can’t go on-air. I just can’t do it.” Kevin looked at her for a long moment, watched as she blinked back tears. “Stage fright?” “It didn’t start out that way, no.” “You want to explain that one?”
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The moment the question was out, Kevin wanted to kick himself. But Sarah didn’t seem to mind answering him. What upset him was that she seemed to be answering by rote, as if she’d memorized her shortcomings. “I don’t have the presence, the style. I come across as too cerebral, too serious. I don’t…I don’t do banter well.” “And you know this because…?” he asked, one eye on his wristwatch. “Because in college, every time the class got to critique me they all said the same thing. I can’t do it, Kevin. Don’t make me do it.” “Sarah. It’s almost eleven on a Sunday night. Do you know how many people watch this station at eleven o’clock on a Sunday night, even with a plane crash?” “But this goes live everywhere. I’m not an idiot. I know what’s happening here. You’re making me into a coast-to-coast disaster zone.” “Cut that out. You’ll be fine. You’ve been out of college for a long time—” “Not that long. Now you’re making me sound like Methuselah.” “Don’t interrupt! You have to give it a shot, Sarah. For yourself.” He took a deep breath. “If not for you, then do it for me.” “Oh, that’s low, Mulhally,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “One kiss, and you pull out the do it for me line?” He grabbed her, slanting his mouth against hers, taking her by surprise before she’d finished speaking so that her mouth was unprepared for him—soft and yielding. He deepened the kiss almost immediately, and her arms curled around his waist, maybe because he’d almost knocked her off balance, maybe because she actually wanted to be closer to him. His headset was down around his neck, but he—and Sarah—could both still hear Jason up in the control room shouting, “One minute, people—who the hell’s going in the chair?” Kevin broke off the kiss and grabbed Sarah’s hand even as he pulled his headset back on. “Sarah’s on-air tonight, Jason. Cue the Breaking News screen in thirty seconds.” “Sarah? Sarah who? I need a last name for the graphic.” “Sarah Jenkins,” Kevin told him tersely. “Who the hell did you think I meant?” “Not Sarah Jenkins, that’s who,” Jason answered. “Okay, your funeral, Mulhally.” “See? Even Jason knows I can’t do this. I hate you,” Sarah told Kevin quietly as he led her across the studio and up onto the portable stage that served as the news anchor desk. “Completely and utterly,” she continued as one of the techs miked her.
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“Forever,” she added, the word a little garbled, as the tech told her to purse her lips so he could smooth some blusher on her cheeks after doing a quick light check. Jason was still shouting, his nervousness showing. “Ten seconds, people! Sarah, honey, we managed to get a couple of notes in front of you.” She looked down at the pages on the desktop, shifted her eyes to the left to the built-in screen, and then lifted her head and found the live camera. “Ever and ever,” she said as Jason counted down….
Chapter Seven “And in five…four…three…two…” Jason then pointed to Sarah as he mouthed the word one. “Good evening,” Sarah said exactly on cue, her lovely face grave but not maudlin, her voice calming, clearly articulated. “We interrupt your regular programming with breaking news tonight out of Newark, New Jersey. A small commuter passenger plane en route from Boston to Newark crashed approximately ten minutes ago while on approach to the airport. A thunderstorm, we’re told, was earlier forecast for the area but has not yet been confirmed. There is no news of any fatalities at this time but our information at the moment remains sketchy. Our mobile news team is even now arriving on the scene, and I have been assured we will have a live shot and an update when we return from this short break.” The red light on the camera went out and Sarah began barking orders. She wanted a live feed by the end of the break or she’d know the reason why. She wanted a small graphic of the type of plane positioned beside the Breaking News headline at the bottom of the screen. She wanted someone from Newark Airport on the horn to talk to her, live. Who had the file footage of this type of plane to use as a fill-in if they couldn’t go live from the scene as yet? It was all in her head, everything needed for a complete story, and all on no notice. Her years behind the camera were helping her now that she was on the other side—and she looked terrific. “Good work, Sarah,” he said into his earpiece. He was feeling the sort of pride he believed parents felt when their kid didn’t cry on Santa’s lap. If she handled the rest of the half hour as well as she’d handled the intro, he was going to make sure to push a tape of her performance upstairs. As far as he was concerned, she was perfect anchor material. “I mean it. Perfect, Sarah.” “Eat dirt and die, Mulhally,” she said, and then lowered her head. But he saw it. He saw her smile, and the way she drew her elbow in close to her body as she gave a slight fist-pump before Jason began the countdown again…. *** The half hour behind the desk stretched to three hours once they learned that the junior senator from Pennsylvania had been one of the passengers on the crashed plane. All of those hours revolved around Sarah as she went on split-screen with the anchor in Atlanta, spoke with the head of Newark Airport and, at last, with the junior senator herself, who had walked away from the crash with only minor injuries.
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When the red light went out for the last time, the crew in the studio broke into spontaneous applause, along with cheers for Sarah, who had carried it all off without a hitch. “Shez gud. I dink you just lost your goper,” Rick La Donna said, still holding a handkerchief to his nose, but newsman enough not to have left the building to seek medical help until the crisis had passed. “You still here, Rick?” Kevin asked as Sarah walked over to them and the hastily summoned Nancy Haas, their regular morning anchor who’d arrived five hours early, took up the spot behind the desk. “Yes, Rick, you really need to see somebody about that nose,” Sarah said, still jumpy with nerves, but unable to completely hide the exhilaration she felt after her hours on-air. She wanted to ask if she’d done okay, but after the applause that probably would have been pushing it. Still, she needed to hear what Kevin thought. It was one thing to have him cheerleading into her earpiece; it was another to hear what he thought after the fact, as her boss. “The node, the cabs,” Rick said, holding up the paper cup that held two porcelain caps now, not just one. “Loods like you’ll be fillingh in for me for a bile, Sarah,” he said before one of the crew motioned that he was ready to drive the man to the local E.R. “Me?” Sarah turned to Kevin. “He’s not right, right? We’ll pull in somebody else.” “No, we won’t,” Kevin told her, taking her elbow and leading her back up the metal stairs she’d descended in what seemed like another lifetime. “Tag, you’re it, until Rick is ready to go back in the chair. And that came straight from Atlanta, by the way, just so you don’t think anyone’s pulling strings here.” “You mean, like you?” “Like me, yeah,” he said as they entered the archive room—still dark, with only the glowing monitors giving off any light. “They thought you showed great on-air presence, exuded an air of calm while still keeping it all human. They especially liked your interaction with the senator, and the way you thought of patching through an on-air phone call from her daughter at college. United States senator or not, the country hearing her say ‘I’m all right, baby,’ and the daughter telling her ‘I love you, Mommy’? Gold, Sarah, pure broadcast gold, and you know it. The senator will probably want to steal you for her reelection campaign, but Atlanta has first dibs. You’re to report there in two weeks to take over as coanchor of the morning show. They’ve decided to drop the happy patter routine and go back to a full news format.” “No, that can’t be right.” Sarah stopped dead in her tracks. Funny stuff, what he was saying, but he had to be kidding, right? “They want me to what?” Kevin kept his back to her as he sat down in front of one of the monitors, so she couldn’t see the expression on his face. “Seems the shake-up is pretty extensive. On-air talent and behind the scenes. That bit with the senator and her daughter will run for the entire next news cycle, and then—bam—you appear as the new face in the morning—new, but already familiar to viewers. I’d try for an interview with the senator as one of your first guests, but I’m sure you’re already thinking that, right? But first, are you ready to get back to the archives for Jessica? We promised her we’d have something for her ASAP.”
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Sarah collapsed into the chair next to him in shock, but his body language was bothering her. Was he angry? He didn’t sound angry. He sounded almost nervous. What wasn’t he telling her? “Kevin? Are you all right with this? Putting me on-air was your idea, remember?” “Sure was, and it was the right move. You were fantastic, a natural. Atlanta said they didn’t know what they wanted to do with the morning show until they saw you, but now they’re pushing to get you down there as soon as you can pack your bags,” he said, reaching across her to tap on a few keys, bringing up the first of the cold cases, that of the Fishtown Strangler. “So, you gonna do it, Sarah, take the job?”
Chapter Eight “I… I don’t know if I want to accept the job. I feel like the understudy to the actress who can’t go on, and then steals the show. Like, you know, it’s all one great big fiction. It can’t really be happening.” “It’s happening,” Kevin said, pushing his glasses up farther onto the bridge of his nose. He still wasn’t looking at her. He was saying all the right things, but he wouldn’t look at her. “That’s a good one—save that one to the disk.” “Okay,” Sarah said, deciding to just follow Kevin’s lead for now, and for the next ninety minutes they fell easily into the smooth way they had of working with each other, anticipating each other’s needs. They found and saved to the CD stories on the Fishtown Strangler, the Scholar Athlete murder and the heartbreaking tape from the Baby In the Dumpster news clips. “And we finish with the bit from Teddy Sunshine’s funeral,” Kevin said at last, and Sarah hit the keystrokes to burn the CD before sitting back in her chair. “Not exactly great home movies you’d want to watch again and again, but I think we’ve given her what she wanted.” “Yes, I suppose so. But sometimes what you think you wanted isn’t what you know you want once you get it.” At last she could feel Kevin’s eyes on her, even in the darkened room. “You want to run that one past me again?” Sarah shrugged, wishing he’d stick to the program and understand what she was saying without her having to go into detail. “You know. Sometimes you want something, but that something seemed better before you got it than it really is when you finally get it, because by the time you finally get it there’s someone—that is, there’s something else much more important that you realize you really have been wanting instead of the thing you thought you were wanting.” She sighed. “And then the thing you wanted doesn’t seem so important anymore.” “Oh, yeah, that cleared everything up for me,” Kevin said with a small smile, once more reaching past her to hit the buttons that took them out of the computer program. “Put a little makeup on a person, change her hairstyle a little and she goes all female and cryptic on you….”
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“I thought I was being perfectly clear,” Sarah said, grabbing the burned CD from the slot and scribbling the order of the stories on the disk with a marker. “Hand me that case, Kevin.” “Giving orders already. Very good, Sarah.” He handed her the case and she thrust the disk inside it before bracing her palms on the desktop, ready to stand up. Ready to run. “I never thought you could be like this,” she said as her parting shot, which was a pretty good one—or would have been, if she wasn’t near tears. Kevin stood up as well, taking her arm as she tried to turn away from him. “Be like what, Sarah?” “I don’t know. Mad, maybe, that I’m getting a break?” “You think that? Oh, God, of course you do. It’s not that, Sarah. I’m delighted that you’re getting a chance to do what you’ve always wanted to do.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and made a face. “But you’re right. I am mad. But I’m mad at me. Not you, me.” She blinked away her tears. “Excuse me?” “Three years, Sarah. Three years I waited. Idiot me, building up courage, thinking I had all the time in the world. And then what happens the night I finally decide to make a move? I’ll tell you what happens. You get to choose between a huge break in your career and…and me. Tough choice, huh?” Sarah put a hand on his arm, the world suddenly making sense again—if it ever had. “Kevin? What are you saying here?” “That I’m an idiot?” His ashamed smile nearly broke her heart. “That I had my chance and blew it? You’re going to Atlanta, Sarah. You’re going to the big show. You need me like you need another hole in your—” This time she did grab him by the ears, pulling him down so that she could press her mouth against his and shut him up before he talked himself out of being in love with her. Because he was in love with her. He had to be. No otherwise brilliant man could act like such a total jerk unless he was in love. She felt his arms go around her even as he deepened their kiss, shifted his thigh so that it pressed between her slightly spread legs. They were back to where they were three hours earlier, except they’d also taken a step forward; maybe two steps, even three. Because there was nothing at all tentative in Kevin’s kiss now, or the way he moved his hands over her, telling her without words that he wanted her; he wanted her badly. “I won’t go to Atlanta,” she said as, together, they sort of aimed themselves toward the floor between their two chairs. “I want you to go,” Kevin said as he took off his glasses and tossed them in the general direction of the desktop. “I’m so proud of you… I love you so much…”
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She tipped her head to one side as he was busily kissing her neck. “But…but I don’t want to leave you. I can’t leave you…” “Well, um, see—there’s something I haven’t told you. You don’t have to leave me,” he said as she worked on the buttons of his shirt, all inhibitions leaving her the moment he cupped her breasts in his hands. “But…” “I’m going, too. As producer of the morning show,” he whispered as she put her hands in his hair, ready to pull him down to her breasts. “But I needed to be sure of what you wanted. I’d already been approached for the producer’s job in Atlanta, and I was thinking of turning it down because I knew I couldn’t leave you, except that would have held back your career, since you’d be promoted to my old job if I left. You can see my dilemma, can’t you? Either I’d go to Atlanta, or I’d stay here so I could be with you, but not be able to look at you because I’d have cost you a promotion out of my own selfishness in not wanting to be without you.” “And you say I don’t make sense? I think you’ve got me beat, Kevin, although I think you’re wonderful, I really do.” “I think I’ve lost my mind, and you think I’m ‘wonderful.’ But now you’re going, too, which would be even more wonderful if I didn’t…if I didn’t want to force myself on you…” Sarah paused in the act of unhooking Kevin’s belt. “What did you just say?” “I told you,” Kevin said, taking deep breaths as he held her slightly away from him. “I was up for the producer job in Atlanta and you would then take over here. But that was before your on-air tonight, and now they want me as producer and you as on-air. They think we’re too good a team to break up. And that would be terrific and solve all my problems, except that it also just screwed everything up because now you might think I was only using you to get to Atlanta when I was only trying to tell you how much I love you and want us to be together and…and the timing sucks, Sarah. That’s all.” Sarah looked at him for a long time. The vulnerable Kevin, the unsure Kevin. The Kevin who also probably didn’t do all that well in Social Skills 101. The Kevin who loved her. Loved her. “You’re right,” she told him at last, grabbing on to his hands and pulling him to his feet along with her. “You are an idiot. This floor is cold…and my apartment is ten minutes from here. Say it again, Kevin. Please.” “I love you?” he said, reaching for his glasses. “Is that it?” “I think so, yes,” Sarah said, feeling a little breathless. “That, and the we-make-a-great-team part. I thought you’d never figure that out. Three years, Kevin. I mean, three years. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about? I mean, I know about me, but are you saying that you—?” “Since the first day I walked onto the set and you called me Jenkins.” “You’re right. I mean, we’re both right. I’m an idiot.”
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“Oh, Kevin, I love you so much,” Sarah said, reaching for him again. It turned out that the archives room floor wasn’t all that cold after all. Then again, maybe they just didn’t notice….
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The Honest Truth by The Honest Truth Description: Katie Fletcher, household name thanks to her daily talk show, The Honest Truth, has not had a good week. The tabloids are having a field day printing unfounded rumors about her love life, and a night spent drowning her sorrows in one cocktail too many meant she failed to make time to read the research notes on that afternoon's program on secrets. To make matters worse, the guest she has just introduced, a man who has decided he can no longer live a lie and who today is coming out to his wife live on national television, is...her ex-boyfriend.
Chapter 1: Katie Fletcher looked at her watch for the second time in as many minutes as she strode along the corridors of the television studios as fast as her designer heels would allow, her perfectly styled hair bobbing along behind her, reminiscent of a shampoo commercial. She'd learned to be a master of emotional disguise a long time ago. In fact, based on her last couple of weeks, she was practically a Jedi master. Turning the final corner into Studio 6, she automatically checked her jacket and inhaled deeply. With over two hundred programs under her belt and a People's Choice Award on her desk, Katie rarely got nervous. She just wished that today she were a little less hung-over. She could still taste the smoky atmosphere of the bar over twelve hours later. What had she been thinking? To err may be human, but for the media it's divine. And last night must have been the icing their cake was waiting for. *** "Let's go. You've got a show to present tomorrow afternoon." "I've always got a show to present. Come on, just one more for the road." "That's what you said three mojitos ago. I don't think the road can possibly be thirsty anymore, and if I knew you at all, and you weren't my boss, I'd say you were trying to avoid going home." Tom stopped himself wondering if he'd just overstepped the mark. After all, he was only a researcher, admittedly a researcher full of beer, but while the office hierarchy may have apparently been suspended once they got to the bar, he suspected Katie could pull rank any time she felt like it. "Quick. Better call the papers." Katie assumed her best tabloid voice-over tone. "I can see it now. 'Katie Fletcher in midweek alcohol binge at S Cargo. Addicted to sex and drink. What on earth has happened to TV's girl next door?' I'll add it to my scrapbook." Tom laughed. "Come on, it's not that bad." "It's pretty bad." Katie willed herself to feel drunk. How could she have polished off over five cocktails and still feel this sober? "I've been all over the papers."
Chapter 2: Let's get you into a cab. I don't want to be responsible for you having to present tomorrow's show in shades." "Okay. You win." Decision made, Katie wished she could click her kitten heels together three times and be transported directly to her bed. "But you'd better watch yourself. I am a marriage-breaker after all." "Don't believe everything you read in the papers."
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"I don't. I just wish everyone else didn't." "And I'm not married." "That's because you're only twelve," Katie teased. "Twenty-four." "Same difference." "But I have got a serious girlfriend." "Don't worry, I'm not interested." "I didn't mean that." Katie was amused to see Tom was suddenly flustered. "It's just...I meant you're only ten years older than me." "Eight." "The Herald said you were thirty-four." "Fantastic. Not only am I a moral-free zone but they're aging me, too." "Stuart said you were thirty-eight according to another article." "And if I know Stuart, I'm sure there's an office sweepstakes in progress. If they can't even get my age right, how on earth are people supposed to believe any of the other crap they write." It was true — there was a sweepstakes. They'd only put a pound in each, and there were only eight of them playing, but it was the principle of the thing. "I'm thirty-two. And only just," Katie clarified. Damn… He'd been sure she was thirty-one. "Just out of interest, is the general consensus in the office that I did or didn't sleep with Jamie Joseph?" Tom blushed, stalling. "Well? Seriously, I'm interested." "Didn't... But plenty of the girls think you're mad not to. Apparently he's got an amazing six-pack." "And an ego the size of South America…and a wife, of course." Fact: She'd been out for dinner with Jamie Joseph, erstwhile footballer, model, and now national love rat at a time when his marriage was practically on the rocks — but only in an attempt to persuade him to grant her show an exclusive interview.
Chapter 3:
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Fact: He was a smooth-talker and flirtatious, and she had passed out on his sofa after a lengthy drinking session. But that was it. And if anyone had bothered to study the photo of her leaving sheepishly at 2 a.m., it was obvious she'd slept in her clothes. There was even a crease on her cheek where the cushion had left its imprint. Yet now that he'd publicly gone back to his wife, suddenly it was supposedly all her fault that they'd split up in the first place. Pure fiction. And while she knew that today's tabloids were tomorrow's cat litter liners, now every time someone profiled her, this story was going to surface to haunt her. Her word against his. And, in the eyes of the tabloids, she was guilty until proven innocent. Checking her phone for messages, Katie was appalled to note that it was past midnight. They'd only gone for a quick drink after work in the name of team bonding, and now it appeared that she and Tom were the only two left. As they reached the pavement, Katie momentarily lost contact with her left shoe and grabbed hold of Tom's arm for balance. Flashbulbs exploded. Her wobble captured by a handful of hungry press photographers who were only there for the A-listers in the private bar. Yet now, accidentally, Katie had handed them the next installment of their version of her life on a plate. "Coming to you in ten, nine, eight, seven, six..." Stuart, the studio director, calmly counted Katie down to her opening link while her producer, Fiona, urgently shouted last-minute instructions via talkback into her earpiece as the familiar catchy title-story teaser blared out in the studio. The studio audience erupted into a cacophony of applause, cheers and whoops as the floor manager, now waving his arms madly, galvanized the invited group into action. The warmup had obviously been a good one. Katie could barely hear her cue. And to think she used to believe they were genuinely that pleased to see her. "Three, two..." From where she was standing behind the set, the cheers sounded friendly enough. Daytime TV's favorite gladiator prepared to enter her arena.
Chapter 4: "...one. Good luck." As the door slid open to reveal Katie for the first time, the applause crescendoed. With a trademark cock of her head she walked forward to her mark, ignoring the audience, only to smile warmly at the camera. Just another day in the office. "Cue Katie." "Good afternoon. Today on The Honest Truth we're talking about secrets. Joining me in the studio are people who have lived their lives with the burden of a secret....' Thank God for Autocue. Her mind was still wandering. And it wouldn't be long now until the evening papers hit the stand. But with or without a picture of her and Tom? That was the trouble with August. Quiet news month. Silently she prayed for a real breaking-news story. She wasn't talking world-troubling or lifethreatening, just a small economic downturn, a cross-dressing politician, a royal pregnancy...anything to bump her out. "... We will be asking our guests whether it is ever justifiable to keep a secret from someone that you love, or does the truth always catch up with you in the end? Is honesty always the best policy? My first guest today is a man who has decided he can no longer live a lie and has come out to his wife after only eighteen months of marriage." An audible intake of breath from the audience. "Cameras two and three swap. Going well, gorgeous." Automatically Katie took in the information from Stuart, turning to face the right camera and the podium, where an empty chair awaited her first interviewee.
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"Allow me to introduce you to Daniel Red…fern." Externally her hesitation was barely perceptible; emotionally she was on Code Red. The name was far too familiar. She wished she'd made time to read the research notes this morning. As Daniel took his seat, Katie caught his eye. Her stomach felt like it was single-handedly in the process of completing an Olympic gymnastic routine. He had a little less hair than she remembered, he'd lost a bit of weight, but somehow she had just introduced her ex-boyfriend to the nation, live on television.
Chapter 5: She didn't even know he'd got married. She hadn't seen him for nearly two years. But when your boyfriend leaves you for your best friend there is only one way to take it: badly. "So Daniel." "You can call me Dan, Katie." Of course she could. She'd called him Dan the whole time they'd been together. But in those days he'd been claiming to be heterosexual, so presumably his preference for name variation could also have changed. And what was three letters between friends? Even when they were a g, an a and a y? "Thanks. So, Dan, how long have you known you were gay?" She hadn't set eyes on him in two years. And yet now, the improbable conclusion to her recent triumvirate of bad luck, she was about to interview him on national television about his sexuality. Consummate professional behavior required. She was going to have to dig deep for this one. "If I'm honest, probably since my early teens…" "Early teens?" So their two years together had been a total sham. If he'd been honest, maybe the heartbreak she'd felt when he'd left her for her best friend might have been easier to take. Or perhaps Sarah wouldn't have been interested, and she wouldn't have lost her best friend and her boyfriend all at the same time. "… Or at least then I knew I was attracted to both men and to women. I was lucky, I guess. I'd always enjoyed sex with women." Sex with women. He certainly knew how to make his ex feel special. Surely there should have been a sign? Couldn't some greater force at least have had the decency to send her a text message to warn her that this was test-Katie-to-her-limits month? "And yet knowing you preferred men, you went ahead and got married?" The ratings had been up since Katie's alleged antics had hit the public domain, but right now the show's presenter was definitely down. Dan looked the same, he sounded the same. Thankfully no one else in the studio appeared to be aware of their history.
Chapter 6: "Yes, I did. Eighteen months ago, and for her sake I wish we hadn't." Surely he wasn't expecting her to feel sorry for him? "Can I ask, and I know our viewers will be interested in the answer to this…" if not quite as interested as the presenter "…why? I mean you're still young. What was the hurry?"
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"He's nearly thirty-three." And a rustle of paper as Katie heard Fiona checking the file. Superfluous information. Dan's birthday was two weeks before her own. She still had the silver bracelet he gave her yellowing in her jewelry box. "We'd known each other a long time, we were both in our early thirties, we'd been through some tough times, and I think we just thought, why wait?" "Tough times?" Katie felt sick at the realization that he hadn't just left her for Sarah. He'd bloody well gone and married her. But that didn't explain why he'd chosen to appear on her show and hadn't so much as called to tell her first. Maybe this was some 21st-century reinvention of Candid Camera? "Well, a few ups and downs. In a way it threw us together more firmly." Katie took a deep breath. She could do this. "And how did your wife take your confession?" "Well, actually, it was her who forced the issue. Made me face up to a few things. She was a pillar of support." "Was?" "Well, these things are never going to be easy, and I couldn't have done it without her. But, well, it's a few months ago now, and she has her own life to be getting on with, to rebuild. I mean it's not like this is what she was hoping for. I was always looking for something else. She deserved better." Every woman in the audience nodded. "No, most women don't walk down the aisle dreaming of a childless marriage ending in divorce because their husband confesses to being gay all along." "Steady on, Katie," Fiona's voice trilled directly into her ear, a timely reminder to herself and her conscience.
Chapter 7: "No." Dan looked at his shoes for a moment, his discomfort heightening the audience sympathy. "But coming out was the best thing I have ever done. It just feels like a huge weight has been lifted. The relief is enormous. For the first time in my life I am being true to myself…." This was harder than she'd thought it would be. And surely the best way to find out whether or not she could cope with his confession was not in front of a studio audience of a hundred and twenty and a viewing public of over two million. "… I just wish I'd done it years ago. The support I've had has been amazing…." "Hand up in block A." Fiona's voice interrupted her train of thought. Dan was still going strong. "Hang on a second, Dan. We have a gentleman here who would like to say something." Gratefully Katie thrust her stick mike at the audience member in question. A second to regroup and enough time for a furtive glance round the studio when the cameras were on Dan. To her relief there was no sign of anyone looking anything like Sarah in the audience this evening. "I just wanted to say to Dan that he'll never look back now. I wrestled for years before coming out. And my family took it badly at first. Very badly. But things are definitely better now. It's very hard. You were brave and you should be proud of yourself. Good on you, mate."
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A warm ripple of applause. "Thanks." "Let me ask you, Dan, how has your family taken it? Was telling your mother harder than telling your wife?" "Great question, Katie. Edge-of-seat stuff. Camera 4, cover audience reaction." Stuart was firing compliments and camera directions at a rate of knots. "My parents don't actually know yet…." With perfect professional timing, Katie raised an eyebrow at camera 2. "Well, we're not that sort of touchy-feely family. I don't know, to be honest, how they'll take it. Let's say they're very traditional and, well, conventional about a lot of stuff." "And you don't think it might have been wise to tell them before coming onto national television to talk about it?"
Chapter 8: "They know my marriage is over. I know they were disappointed. And I did tell them that it was my fault. That it was because I was having affairs. But it was like they didn't or couldn't listen." Katie hoped with all her heart that his parents weren't waiting in the wings, then reassured herself that this was The Honest Truth, not Jerry Springer. They rarely did confrontation. "You were having affairs?" He hadn't changed that much then. "I'm ashamed to admit that I was. My wife suspected me and found out, and then it was over." "How did she find out?" "Well, I was careless. She saw a text message on my phone that was pretty self-explanatory, put it that way." "Okay, so you were married, having affairs, but deep down underneath it all you knew you were gay. Or at least bisexual." "Yes. I guess I've just got quite a high sex drive." A titter from the younger members of the audience. "But I've always been confused about who I was. Since I was a teenager." A supportive murmur from the audience. "So it would seem." "They weren't all long-term affairs. Some were just one-night stands." "Oh, that's much better then." "Everyone makes mistakes. It was a very confusing time for me."
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"Twenty seconds to first ad break. Go softly." Saved by the bell. "My thanks to Dan for his candor. Coming up after the break we'll be talking to him some more, finding out what the audience here in the studio thinks, and we've also got a surprise for Daniel…." Katie could feel her chest tightening as she read her next prompt clearly and flawlessly from the Autocue. It was as if she were watching her own show. "…as we ask his soon-to-be ex-wife for her side of the story. So don't go away."
"Fade down my microphone." Katie marched off the set the second they cut to the break. From the gallery Stuart watched her departure on the monitors with concern. One presenter. One ad break. Very little time. "Where the hell's she going? Camera 2, can you see her?" Dave's voice crackled over the talkback. "On her way in Stu."
Chapter 9: Almost simultaneously she burst through the heavy door, adrenaline coursing ferociously through her body. "I know him. Did you know that?" "Well done, great first part, shaping up really well…" Fiona ignored Katie's crisis tone, instead adopting the stroke-your-presenter-back-to-sanity approach. "How amazingly small this world is. It's like that six degrees of separation thing…." Katie interrupted, "No, I know him, know him. We were an item. Until he left me, nearly two years ago, for my best friend. My best friend who, I now gather, he married. And, thanks to your script on Autocue, who I just introduced as my next guest." "You see, and to think the critics have the gall to say that people never learn anything new from your show." "Not funny, Stuart. Look…" Katie hesitated. "These microphones are off aren't they?" Stuart checked the console and exchanged nods with Bill in the sound gallery. "Yup." "You can't seriously expect me to mediate between the two of them live on air?" Katie started pacing the length of the room, Fiona and Stuart watching every step. She couldn't raise her voice out there but she had to let off steam somewhere and fast; otherwise, she suspected, she might spontaneously combust. Undoubtedly a great television moment, probably a television first if she did it live, but she wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet. There were still a lot of things she wanted to achieve. "Who the fuck does our research these days?" Katie's shock bubbled into anger. "Where did they find him?" She knew she wasn't blameless. If only she'd read the research this morning instead of trying to limit the damage caused by her late-night stumble. Now her afternoon had just careered off the rails. She only hoped it wasn't about to take her career with it. Fiona picked up the phone to summon the relevant researcher to the lion's den while Stuart attempted to diffuse some of the palpable tension emanating from his presenter. Her cool had well and truly deserted her. Stuart only hoped it hadn't actually left the building.
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"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation, and if not, we'll just sack somebody." He smiled, trading humor for encouragement. "I'm sure this must have been a shock."
Chapter 10: "A shock. Really? Do you think? I mean my ex is gay and oh, yes, about to divorce the girl formerly known as my best friend." "Okay, I can't imagine what you're going through this minute, but do me a favour — dig deep and postpone your crisis for about…" Stuart consulted the bank of ever-decreasing green digital numbers in front of him "…another seventeen minutes. And lose the swearing. It never looks good when you have to bleep your daytime presenter. Seriously Katie, you can do this. You're the talk-show queen. Try and keep calm." Pep talk over, Katie nodded. She'd worked hard to put Dan and Sarah behind her. And if this was the ultimate challenge, she would bloody well rise to it. At least for seventeen minutes. Fi put the handset down. "Dan was recommended to us by a gay charity. He didn't mention your relationship nor, in the course of the research, did he mention that he'd ever met you. Tom promises he'll talk you through it all afterwards. He'd do it now but —" Fiona consulted the digital countdown "— you're back on in under two." "Great." Katie slumped into a chair much to Fiona and Stuart's combined horror. "Be reasonable, Katie. I wouldn't expect our researchers to ask all our prospective guests if they have at any point in the past slept with our presenter, and neither would you. I'm just surprised his name didn't sound familiar when you read his brief." Katie knew she had dug herself into a pretty deep hole. Currently up to armpit level and sinking rapidly. "I know. I guess I thought there might be more than one Daniel Redfern." It was a pathetic attempt to cover herself. "Look, you better get back out there. Sarah is waiting behind the door on the left." "Right." "Left." "Right. Left. I know." Best publicity smile in situ, Katie walked out to confront her past and tried to ignore the excited hum coming from the audience. "Sarah's ready. Do you know her, too?" Fiona's sarcasm was clear, even over talkback. Katie spoke into her radio mike, annoyed that her producer clearly hadn't been listening earlier. "I told you. I knew her before I knew him."
Chapter 11: "Of course. The best friend." Katie didn't trust the excitement in Fiona's voice. "Hmm…I might give Press a call. There's definitely a feature article in this, and they could probably organize a quick photo in hospitality afterwards."
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Katie cupped her hand round her mouth and her microphone, attempting to create a sliver of privacy even though she knew the whole crew would be listening. "Hold off for now, Fi." Katie meant it, although she also knew Fiona's "journalistic" instincts would be racing ahead by now. "Why not build your history with Dan and Sarah into the interview? We'll just chop the other guests out of the running order." That was why, Katie mused, Fiona was so sought after in the business. Always chasing the headline. "I can't just bring it up out of the blue. Besides, who cares." "I'd say at least two million viewers for a start. It'll be compulsive TV. And where better to come clean than on a show about secrets. If Dan and Sarah wanted a quiet life they shouldn't have decided to air their dirty laundry on TV." Katie's silence was deafening. "Leave it to her, Fiona. She's got great instinct. She knows what she's doing." Katie could have kissed Stuart. "But what's his motive? For all we know Dan's here not because he wanted to help people but because he wanted to stitch Katie up and get his Warholian fifteen minutes of fame." Fiona had an annoying habit of always assuming the worst, but, as they had all learned, her instincts were usually pretty spot-on. "He's not like that." Katie said it more for her own credibility than for his. "Look, you didn't know he was gay, plus he left you for your mate. Don't quite understand where your loyalty is on this one. Plus, he's signed his contract. I say go for it, and with a bit of luck the papers will love it more than they loved you leaving S Cargo last night with young Tom…." The use of "young" was pointed and unnecessary. "…and it'll be fantastic for the ratings." Katie ignored her. She refused to see herself or her guests as a commodity. "Is last night in tonight's editions?"
Chapter 12: "Rumor has it yes, but no one's seen any concrete evidence. Tom is staking out the newsagent as we speak." "It wasn't a date. I fell off my shoe." "Whatever." "Stuart'll tell you. Loads of the team were there earlier on. The papers wanted some gossip and so they made some up." "So give them something real. And it might stop them harassing Tom — poor guy's been hounded by reporters all afternoon." Poor guy? Just because she was paid more than he was didn't mean she didn't have feelings.
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"Thirty seconds." Katie assumed her position back on the set and did her best to smile calmly at Dan despite the fact that only minutes earlier he'd admitted live on national television that he'd had lots of affairs. Yet he'd always denied that he'd slept with Sarah during their relationship. And then he'd married her. "Ready, darling?" At least Stuart was being nice today. She was sure he'd come out in a far more civilized fashion. Katie nodded. "Coming to you in…ten, nine, eight…" Swallowing hard, Katie searched for her inner calm. It had to be around there somewhere. Losing her best friend had been the biggest tragedy of the whole mess, and in seven seconds she was going to see her for the first time in two years. "Five, four, three… Go get 'em, Fletch." Stuart was doing his best. Fiona's words played on a loop in her head. Katie wasn't at all sure she wanted to invite the press into her private life. Then again, maybe she should retain the initiative. And she had been the victim in all of this. "One…" The personal/professional line stretched before her. To cross or not to cross… "Cue Katie." Showtime.
Questions that Katie Fletcher really wanted to ask: "You were supposed to be my best friend. What on earth possessed you to steal my boyfriend and marry him? Don't you think that, just maybe, you got what you deserved? And besides, why didn't you call me when it all went wrong?" Official question as heard by the studio audience and 1.85 million viewers (and counting) on their sofas at home: "So, Sarah, how long were you married before you realized that Dan wasn't everything he should be?"
Chapter 13: "With the benefit of hindsight, I guess I should've known from the start that things weren't right. We even got together in unusual circumstances." "What do you mean?" Katie locked eyes with Sarah, curious as to how she was going to answer this one. "Well, Dan and I got together after his previous girlfriend…" Relief washed over Katie. No name-check as yet.
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"…had accused him of having an affair with me. In a way, it was almost as if she had thrown us together…. I mean, we'd got to know each other through her already so there was a shared history of sorts, which made it easy just to sort of fall into a relationship." Surely Sarah wasn't suggesting that this was all her fault? "I mean, we'd both denied having an affair but she simply wouldn't listen. The accusations hurt." Katie interrupted. She'd had enough. "But in the last part of the show, Dan confessed that he had many affairs during his long-term relationships. That he constantly felt that something was missing and had been searching for something else pretty much from his teens." "You bet he was having affairs. Obviously I didn't know that when we got together, but I do now. It turns out his ex was right to be suspicious, but nothing had ever happened between us before she effectively threw him out." "Really?" "Really. And, as it happens, it saved her going through what I've had to deal with. I have to confess that, for a while, I wondered if she'd known what I hadn't yet discovered and was just trying to teach me a lesson or something." Katie was shaking her head. To the audience at home it may have come across as disbelief at the whole situation, but to Sarah it came as a relief. Dan had lied to her on so many levels, she hadn't known what to believe. Encouraged, she continued. "It's been a very confusing time. I am supportive of his decision to come out. I know it's an incredibly brave and hard thing for anyone in his position to do. But the real reason I've come along today…"
Chapter 14: Katie held her breath and prayed the next sentence wasn't going to contain her name. "…and perhaps the reason he's not pleased to see me, is that I wanted to set the record straight. What he might have forgotten to mention, if I hadn't come along today to remind him, is that these affairs he's confessed to having were with men." Katie's relief that her secret was still safe was tempered by the feeling that a cold front was approaching the studio as the blood drained from her cerebral cortex. The studio audience was definitely switching allegiance from Dan to Sarah, and Katie deftly moved the questioning back to her ex, while concentrating on breathing in and out and waiting for her emotions to catch up with the rest of her. Affairs with men… "So, Dan, are we supposed to feel sorry for you?" She could feel herself going on the offensive and reined herself in. Let the audience decide. Her job, never more difficult than today, was to remain neutral. "What?" "Let me put it this way. Because you were confused, are we supposed to believe that you having affairs with men was okay? Surely being unfaithful is being unfaithful? And how could you do it to your wife? I mean discovering your husband is having an affair with a man has got to be the worst-case scenario?" "Great stuff." Katie barely registered the fact that Fiona was practically whooping in her ear. Concentration was the key. "Well, you would clearly agree with my wife. Actually, at the time I thought it might be easier. As you're not going to be in direct competition, as it were."
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"Right." Momentarily Katie was lost for words. What a mess. She had no doubt this was gripping television. It was just a tad less great when it was your own life. To the relief of Stuart, Fiona and Tom, all watching from the gallery, she came up with another question before the pause went from powerful to simply unprofessional. "Can I ask, Sarah, were there any indications in your physical relationship that Dan was struggling with his sexuality?"
Chapter 15: "Not at first." Sarah blushed, as did Katie beneath her foundation as she recalled just how good their sex life had been. "We always had a great time in bed." Katie didn't want to think about it. Yet, she'd asked. "Excellent stuff." Fiona was in seventh heaven. "Audience question, block C. Second row. Blue jumper." Katie walked over with her microphone. The girl with her hand up was young and attractive. No wonder Fiona had been keen for her to appear on camera. "Yes, madam." "I've got a question for Dan." Katie nodded her encouragement. "I just wanted to ask if he'd thought that maybe he was bisexual rather than gay…." Dan stiffened. "It just sounds like he might be. I mean I've had relationships with both men and women…." An estimated 1.85 million viewers, one hundred and nineteen audience members, plus assorted crew members leaned in a little closer. "And I know it can be confusing." Katie suddenly felt very old-fashioned. Clearly she'd missed her experimental phase. She'd probably been caught in traffic. "Dan?" Katie smiled as the spotlight returned to Mr. Redfern, who was definitely looking a lot less comfortable than he had twenty minutes earlier. And then she remembered that Sarah hadn't slept with Dan while they were going out. He'd been in bed with a man instead. One man? A string of men? Had she lost her best friend in this whole debacle for no reason? Questions, questions everywhere, and only one way she was going to get the answers she deserved. Suddenly Fiona's suggestion wasn't sounding so ludicrous. Or maybe it was down to the heat of the lights. Katie wasn't sure if she was capable of a rational decision today. But she only had a few seconds to decide, while Dan dealt with the question. "No, I don't think so. I mean I don't hate women — indeed I have had some great sex with girls." Did his gaze linger on Katie a little then? She thought it did. "But I just feel that on a deeper level I relate better to and my base attraction is to men. I was in denial for a long time and then I was just too scared. And Sarah here was the one who made me realize I was living a lie, and I'm very grateful to her. I'm just sorry that people had to get hurt in the process, but that's life I guess."
Chapter 16: A ripple of spontaneous applause. St. Dan was making a comeback. "Another hand up. Same row."
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Katie leaned across with her stick mike. "Go ahead." "Dan, do you think if your previous girlfriend had been more trusting of you, maybe you would have opened up to her and not got married in the first place?" "Interesting question..." Dan was pensive. "I don't think it's fair, or indeed relevant, to speculate." As soon as the last word left her mouth Katie knew she'd made a mistake. Suddenly, two years down the line, nothing seemed so black-and-white. Walking back to the center of the studio, Katie created a shot with both Dan and Sarah in the background and addressed camera 4, while Stuart did his best to keep up and Fiona crossed her fingers that Katie was about to throw their running order out of the window. "I'm afraid there's yet another twist in this tale. There's something I have to share with you all. Something I thought I could ignore, but as the subject we're discussing today on The Honest Truth is secrets, it would be hypocritical for me to keep one from all of you. The fact is, I have to confess that I know both of my guests. Better than you could even begin to imagine…"
A reverential hush descended on the studio as Katie wound up her confession. For two years her career had soared as she'd concentrated on helping everyone she could. Today she was helping herself. Autocue had been abandoned but Stuart and Fiona couldn't have cared less. "Wrap it up to camera 3. Well done, you. Very brave and, in parts, very moving." Fiona interrupted Stuart in Katie's earpiece. "Great show. I feel another People's Choice nomination coming on…." Looking more together than she felt, Katie got up from the staircase where she had spontaneously seated herself a few minutes earlier and addressed camera 3.
Chapter 17: "So there you have it. We started off talking about secrets and yet now, half an hour later, I think what we need to take away this afternoon is that there are at least two sides to every story. It might only take a few seconds to leap to conclusions, but the consequences may last for years. Try to remain circumspect and most importantly of all, set your preconceptions to one side and really listen to those you love… "My apologies to those we didn't have time to talk to. My thanks to Dan and to Sarah for joining us in the studio this afternoon, and thanks to the audience here and to all of you at home for watching. Join me tomorrow on The Honest Truth, when I will be talking to some inspirational people about life after the death of a loved one. And remember this show is nothing without you. See you tomorrow. Goodbye." A warm wave of applause followed Katie's closing speech. "Roll titles. We're done in four, three, two, one…." Life after the death of a loved one. To Katie's relief she had nothing to contribute on the subject. Unclipping her radio mike she resisted the urge to break into a sprint but left the studio as fast as she could without running and without approaching Dan or Sarah off camera. She needed a shower, a drink that wasn't water and a moment to regroup first. En route to her dressing room, she grabbed the first member of the team she could see. "Tell Dan and Sarah I'll see them down in hospitality. I'll be twenty minutes max."
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*** Having done her best to wash today right out of her hair, wrapping herself in her robe, Katie was surprised to find Stuart waiting for her in her dressing room as she came out of the ensuite shower room. "Hey, just wanted to check you were okay." Stuart embraced his presenter, who was only too grateful for a hug. "To be honest I'm exhausted. I didn't expect this afternoon to be so emotionally draining. I can't believe it's still the same day." "Yup, it's definitely still Wednesday.…"
Chapter 18: "Just another manic Wednesday. The Bangles got it so wrong. Monday was fine." *** Tom hurtled toward Katie's dressing room clutching the evening papers. His palms were clammy, regrettably not sweaty enough to smudge the headlines into illegibility. Pages four and six. Not front page, but close enough. They'd even dredged up a picture of him with his girlfriend, Louise, taken at the Christmas party. Grim. He was sure all his mates and, more importantly, Louise would've seen the coverage by now, and worse still, all Louise's friends. And there was only so long he could keep his mobile phone turned off. "Katie, I've got the pap…ers." Knocking and entering practically simultaneously, Tom wasn't expecting to see Katie in the arms of another man. Not "another man" as in he was her man, just, well, in the arms of… The last twenty-four hours were starting to get to him. "I'll be outside." Closing the door behind him he leaned against the wall and waited. *** "Well I'd better get down to hospitality and try and stop your ex from killing your former best friend." "Thanks, Stu. I'll be down in a minute." "I bet you can't wait. Take your time. I'm sure they'll hang on." "I'm looking forward to seeing Sarah…I'm sort of hoping…oh I don't know…." "I'm sure it'll all work itself out," Stu tried to reassure her. "I hope so." "Look, he's a good-looking man. I'm not surprised you fell for him." "My life would've been a lot easier if I hadn't." "Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. We've all had at least one of those. Your life would have been much easier if she hadn't fallen for him, too, or at least he hadn't wheedled his way in there." "Quite."
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"See you in a minute. Shall I send Tom in?" "Why not? I doubt anything he's got to show me is going to make today any worse…and, Stu, could you possibly make sure there's a vodka-tonic waiting for me downstairs?" "Will do. A double. On the rocks. Just a splash of tonic. I know." Tom rushed in half a second after Stuart closed the door. No knocking, nothing. Luckily Katie was still in her robe.
Chapter 19: "Hey, Tom. Sorry about that." "No need to be sorry. You don't need to justify anything to me." "Hey, this is Stuart we're talking about. If I know him, he's just off to flirt with my ex-boyfriend." "Don't be ridiculous." "Why would I mind? He's just told the nation he bats for the other team and Stuart's always appreciated a fine man." "Stuart's not like that…he might be camp but he's definitely heterosexual." "He is? Damn." "What?" "Why does my life have to be so complicated? Why can't my gay best friend just be my gay best friend instead of possibly being heterosexual and so maybe having a hidden, or even not so hidden, agenda?" *** Bemused, Stuart picked up his jacket from the hook in the gallery and picked up the phone. "Bill? Stuart here. Look, Katie's got her stick mike in her dressing room and it's still on." "I'm on it. We heard her, too. Shouldn't you be off to seduce the podium guest now." "Very funny." *** "So I'm afraid things could get worse before they get better." "Stop being melodramatic, Tom." "They're not being nice. Apparently now you can add 'cradle-snatcher' to your list of qualifications." "I thought you said you weren't much younger than me." "Eight years. But as far as they're concerned, you're in your thirties and I only left university two years ago."
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"Great." "The good news…" "There's good news…?" "…is that Sarah's waiting to speak to you. Wants to see you on your own before you get to hospitality. She's in the tea bar. I said I'd go and get her when you were ready. And if you're happy to see her." "I'd love to see her." Maybe finally the tide was turning. Maybe some good could come out of today. "Great. I'll go and fetch her." "Thanks, Tom." Katie had barely pulled her jeans on when there was a knock at the door. Sarah must have sprinted. "Come in." Bill popped his head round the door. "Um, sorry to disturb. Just came to get your stick mike." "Sorry, Bill. Forgot to hand it in. Couldn't get out of the studio fast enough tonight."
Chapter 20: "No problem. I don't blame you. You've got a lot on your plate." "Thanks." "Always best if you turn if off, though…" Katie reddened as the implications of her kindergarten error dawned on her. Bill winked as he left the room. "I'd get yourself down to hospitality before your director makes a move on your ex-fella if I were you." He'd heard her. "You won't say anything?" "My lips are sealed." He closed the door behind him as Katie resisted the almost overwhelming urge she now had to bang her head against her dressing room wall. Who else had been listening? What else had she said? And most importantly of all, where had Stuart been two minutes ago…?
The knock at the door startled Katie. She still wasn't ready and she knew she had to get down to hospitality before Dan thought about going home, or incur the wrath of the entire production team. Plus, she already owed them an apology. All she'd had to do that morning was read the research and she hadn't even managed that. "Who is it?" Please don't let it be Stuart, please don't let it be Stuart.
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The voice was tentative but familiar. "It's Sarah. Okay if I come in? Tom said you were…" "Of course. Just please be nice." Pulling a T-shirt over her head and slipping her feet into the welcome comfort of her backless trainers, Katie was ready. Physically at least. "Hi." "Hi." Two former best friends and more than a frisson of awkwardness. Katie moved toward Sarah for an embrace of sorts. Pretty cardboard in its execution, but at least a step, or just a hug, in the right direction. At the physical contact, Katie could feel the tension diffusing. Sarah caught sight of the newspapers on the desk. "Oh, no. Not more." Katie nodded. "Yup, more fiction." "Who writes these headlines? 'Stumble in the Dating Jungle.' 'Kate Fletcher Caught on the Hop at S Cargo' versus 'Katie the Man-Eater.' 'That's Two in Two Weeks. And Counting…' I think I prefer the first one, although I have to say, not your best picture. You do look incredibly drunk." "Thanks. I think I must have been midblink."
Chapter 21: "I'm just being honest. Tom looks as bad as you do." "Yeah, but he's not the one they're suggesting has a drink problem. Apparently I'm about to go into rehab." "Don't let me keep you." They laughed. Suddenly it felt like two years earlier and Katie had to admit, awkward as she felt, it was great to see her. Sarah decided to take the initiative. "Look, I'm so sorry…about everything. There's more you don't know but even when things went wrong with Dan I didn't dare call. I was sure you'd still be livid, and it's not like I couldn't understand why. I just, well, I didn't know where to start, or even if I could, in terms of trying to make amends. I've learned so much in the last couple of years, about Dan, of course, but also about myself. Do you think there's any way we could start over?" A year ago, definitely not. A month ago, no guarantee. Twenty minutes ago…well, anything was possible. And if Katie had learned anything from her show, it was not to leave things until they were too late. And to give people you loved a chance to explain. "Why didn't you call and tell me you were coming on?" Not that she'd ever managed to take much of her own advice. In her head she had sounded less clipped than that. "I was a last-minute booking. I didn't know I was going to be here until yesterday. Funnily enough, Dan hadn't called to warn me and I guess I thought Tom would mention me. I had no idea today was going to be a surprise to you."
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"Yeah, well, it wasn't planned that way. Some of that is my fault." Katie gestured at the papers. "What with all that, I didn't exactly do a lot of preparation this morning." "You've done so well, Katie. I'm so proud of you. This is everything you ever wanted, isn't it?" "Careerwise it's more, to be honest. I was quite happy doing the magazine thing but then after Dan moved in with you, there was an enormous gap in my life and only work left to fill it. I just put my head in the sand and worked my socks off. Not stunningly original in terms of getting over it but, well, quite effective."
Chapter 22: "Quite effective. Look at you. Your own show. Awards. Newspaper headlines…" "About man-eating and rehab. Not quite what my mother was hoping for when she funded my journalism course after university." "Glad to see you haven't lost the self-deprecation. Whatever you say, we've all been watching you rise and rise with total admiration." "So much for a soaring career. In case you haven't noticed, I'm about to assume the crisis position." "Hey, join the sympathy club. At least your husband didn't leave you for a man." "No but my boyfriend left me for my best friend…." Hurt registered in Sarah's eyes and Katie immediately regretted her jibe. But if they were going to move forward they couldn't pretend it had never happened. Not now. Not after half an hour of television on the subject. "Don't get me wrong, it's great to see you, but I still don't understand why you took him in. From where I was standing it just felt like I'd been getting in the way. I couldn't get my head round why you had rejected me. And being on the outside really hurt." "I can see that now. But when Dan came to me and told me you were accusing him of having an affair with me I was incredibly hurt, too. How could you think I would do that to you?" "But you did." "Only afterwards. By which time Dan had fed me a whole lot of lies." "You should have come and talked to me." "Of course I should. But I didn't. And then we slept together and I knew it was all broken. That there was no going back. And he was so persuasive. Told me everything would be fine. It was the most stupid thing I've ever done…." Despite herself, Katie was feeling for Sarah. Standing back from her part in all this, she could sort of see how it could have happened. "Then when we started having problems, he told me that you'd known he'd been having affairs with men the whole time and had been cool with it. For a moment I thought that maybe you had known and chosen not to tell me to teach me a lesson — and I couldn't blame you really, not after the way I behaved."
Chapter 23:
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Katie shook her head. "But then some other stuff happened. I suspected he was lying and now I know. He was playing us off against each other. And my pride got in the way. So did yours. That's the trouble — we were too similar." Katie was sitting now, trying to take it all in. "Blimey, Sarah. What a mess." "I know. And I've had enough. I just want to move on. But I'm hoping that maybe you and I can start again, or at least try to pick up where we left off. I don't want to do this all on my own. I've missed you." "I think you should take a holiday. Get away from it all. Have a break. I'm sure you'll feel better once you've had a chance to get a bit of perspective and a tan." "Why don't you come with me?" "One step at a time. Don't look at me like that. I'm not ruling it out, but right now I just need to take this slowly…." Sarah nodded. "Look, I'm thrilled you're standing there. I never imagined we'd ever be having this chat. And in some strange way it doesn't feel like two years later. That bloody man. I couldn't care any more whether he's straight, gay or bisexual, he's got a lot to answer for…." Katie looked at her watch. "In fact, Sarah, let's come back to this conversation. Right now I want to set a few things straight with Dan before he leaves hostility." "Hostility?" "Sorry, team in-joke. I mean hospitality. It's just traditionally where any post-show aggression kicks off." Sarah smiled. "You TV types, I don't know." "Hey, I'm a journalist." "'Course you are," Sarah teased "Do you want to wait here?" "Hmm, let's see…. A chance to get a few things off my chest when the cameras aren't rolling or an empty dressing room? Of course, I'm bloody coming. Whoever said revenge was sweet wasn't kidding. Nothing I'd like to do more than wipe that smug smile off his face." Sarah folded her arms. "Hey, steady on. My show isn't Jerry Springer, you know…." "I know he's had a hard time, but he's handled things really badly."
Chapter 24: "…and I really don't need to be adding revenge or spite to my ever-expanding CV of vices." "Okay, I'll follow your lead."
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"Well, if there's one thing I've learned in this job, it's that it's best not to bottle everything up for years. Yet until this afternoon, I managed to pretend this never happened." Katie grabbed her purse. "Sounds like championship-level bottling it up to me. Vintage anger can't be good for you." "To be honest, I'm probably a lot calmer and more circumspect now. But I just can't help thinking that it would be better to get everything out in the open…. You coming?" "No, I think I'll stay here and read the papers…. Honestly. It might have been a while, but I'm still me." "Excellent. Follow me."
"You set me up." Dan's volume setting was clearly stuck on "uncomfortably loud," and Tom was doing his best to keep control of a situation that he could feel starting to slip through his fingers. "I assure you, Dan, that I was merely following my brief to find someone who had recently come out, and was happy to discuss their experience on television. The charity gave me your details in the first instance. There was no conspiracy on my, or on anyone else's part." He resisted the urge to look over Dan's shoulder at the clock on the wall. Surely Katie would be there in a minute? Tom couldn't help feeling that Dan was only venting his anger and frustration on him because he was the nearest target he had a name for. "Then what was my ex doing here?" Stuart was eavesdropping from the makeshift bar and decided now was as good a time as any to take the heat off Tom. Poor bloke had been through enough in the last twenty-four hours, not least having to send six contributors home that they hadn't even got round to speaking to. Sliding into Dan's field of vision, he made himself part of the conversation before he could be ignored. "Well, one of them presents the show, which you must have known when you agreed to come on, and Tom approached Sarah for research reasons." "Hmph. Research, indeed."
Chapter 25: "We have strict guidelines we have to follow for legal reasons." With Stuart on his side, Tom felt a lot more confident. "I had to corroborate your story with Sarah and, out of fairness, we then have to give her the right to reply. She wasn't happy about you coming along on your own." "So it would seem. And now I've been well and truly stitched up. I'm not stupid. I know I didn't come out of that studio with any more friends." "But was anything discussed on air this afternoon untrue?" Mentally Stuart crossed his fingers. "No, I guess not, strictly speaking. But that's not the point. I didn't know it was all going to turn out like this."
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"If it's any consolation, Dan, neither did we." Stuart willed Fiona to come over and rescue him. This was her department. And if factually it had all been correct, the heat was off. "Here comes the cavalry now…." Stuart looked up in time to see Katie and Sarah arriving together. "… And you're telling me this wasn't a setup? Look at the two of them." "They haven't seen each other in nearly two years." Tom leapt to Katie's defense without thinking about it and wondered what on earth he was doing. "Doesn't look like it to me." "Looks like you'll be able to ask her yourself. She's heading over here." Sure enough, Katie was coming straight over. Stuart retrieved her drink from the bar and handed it to her as she arrived. Hostility was warming to its reputation. "'Afternoon, Dan. It's been a long time. Thanks for coming on the show today. Good program." "Thanks." For a minute he was flattered into submission. Well, not quite a minute. "Look I was just telling your researcher, this wasn't the programme I was sold over the phone." "What on earth you thought coming on a program I presented without calling to tell me first was going to be like I have no idea. I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't agreed to take part just to drop me in it." "Would I do that? Come on, Katie, we had a couple of great years together." "So I'd thought." "Sorry to interrupt…."
Chapter 26: "What is it, Michelle?" For once Katie wasn't annoyed that her PA had barged in on one of her conversations. "It's just that I've had your agent on the phone ever since you came off air. I didn't want to harangue you, but apparently her phone has gone berserk. She's fielded calls from journalists on three or four dailies and they're all wanting exclusive interviews." "Are they now." Secretly Katie was quite pleased to note that they'd clearly all been watching in the first place. "On what?" "On this lot." Michelle nodded at Sarah and Dan. "The Tom thing is small-fry by comparison." Tom was the only one to look relieved at this point. "Well, call and tell her there are three sides to this story and that I'm only doing a feature if we can all put our points across clearly…and they have to pay us all or it's a nonstarter. That should separate the men from the boys. Oh, and tell her she can handle all the fees…." Katie turned to Sarah and Dan. "I take it you two don't have agents?" An informative silence. "Well, that's something, I guess. Yeah, Michelle, tell her she can agent these. That should put a smile on her face. And if she wants to speak to me, I'll be free to talk to her in about twenty minutes or so."
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"Will do." "I take it that's okay with you two?" Sarah nodded and Dan followed suit. "It'll have to be more than a fifty-pound fee, though." "That's what I loved about you — all compassion. How have you been?" "What do you care?" "Until about half an hour ago, more fool me, I did care. Just recently I've had a few more home truths than I was expecting and I have to confess I care less." "What do you mean?" "Sarah's filled me in and I'm afraid your plan to come out as St. Dan is looking a little flawed. I mean, just because you were struggling with your sexuality doesn't mean you had a license to behave the way you did. There's coming out and there's having your cake and eating it too until you meet the right man. It wouldn't be acceptable if you were heterosexual, and you can't have the best of every world as and when it suits you."
Chapter 27: "Couldn't have said it better myself, Katie. Clearly this is why they gave you your own show." Sarah was impressed. "Best in her field." As Stuart beamed at the group like a proud father, Katie was relieved to note that he was acting totally normally. He obviously hadn't overheard her earlier. Maybe her run of bad luck was about to run out of steam. "And you're trying to tell me this wasn't some sort of feminist revenge thing." "How could it be? Thanks to you, we haven't been talking to each other for years, plus, you came on to the program of your own free will…and you knew I was the presenter. What were you thinking?" "That it might be fun. I know it sounds ridiculous now. But you should have seen your face when I walked in. I wish I'd had a camera." "Don't worry, Dan." Stuart interrupted. "I had six. I'm sure we can get you a tape of the show if you haven't set the video at home." "Well, I guess that's something." Katie listened, wondering when exactly her life had become a soap opera. "You know what?" Katie turned to Sarah. "I think your holiday plan might just be what the doctor ordered. I could do with a break." "You can't go," Dan proclaimed. "What's it got to do with you?" Katie was defiant. "That holiday was booked for me and Sarah to celebrate our second anniversary. It's Mallorca's top hotel." "Well, I have to confess that I had no idea that there was even a holiday booked, but now you come to mention it, I bet Mallorca is lovely at this time of year. Face it, you owe us both."
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Dan shook his head and in so doing unwittingly admitted defeat. "And you're telling me this wasn't a setup…." "Look, consider this getting off lightly. Revenge may be sweet, but a free suntan would be even sweeter. I promise that, after this article, you'll be left to get on with your new life." "You're not going to get away with this…."
Chapter 28: "Another glass of sangria?" "Don't mind if I do. Have you got the factor 8?" "Coming right up. Want me to cream your back?" "Thanks." Katie flipped herself onto her stomach and rested her chin on the end of the sun-lounger as she positioned her novel on the stone slabs beneath her. This was the life. Ten feet from the pool, five in the afternoon on a Saturday and not a cloud in the sky. Twenty-five degrees of sun coaxing the perfect tan to the surface. "All done, love." "Do you know this is the best idea you've had in years." "About two years actually." Sarah smiled as she lay back on her bed. "Three days down, ten more to go, and we haven't had to spend a Euro." "The bar bill will soon put an end to that." "You know what I mean. Obviously it doesn't exactly make up for everything he put us through, but it's certainly a start. This is the first lie-down-in-the-sun holiday I've had in years and definitely the first holiday Dan has paid for." "That's true enough. Just a shame he couldn't be here to join us." Sarah and Katie giggled. United in sisterhood by sangria and sunshine. Bliss. Katie hadn't realized how much she'd missed her. Sarah removed her sunglasses and enjoyed the pink patterns on the inside of her eyelids as the sun beat down. "What do you think he meant when he said we weren't going to get away with this?" "Who knows and who cares? Of course, he might have sent a photographer out to snap us walking into the sea together." "Big deal. I mean everyone's got cellulite and is proud of it these days." "Unless, of course, he is trying to suggest that Katie Fletcher's ex isn't the only one who was gay." "I'd like to see the papers try and pin that on you after what they've been saying over the last month. They can't have it every way…unless, of course, you are just addicted to sex." "Clearly that'd be it…. I can't even remember the last time I had sex. Is that bad?"
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Chapter 29: "Only if it was last week. Welcome to the real world." A cloud had appeared on Katie's horizon. Or at least her back was no longer in the sun. Raising her head to scowl at the sky, she found herself face-to-face with a waiter. "Sorry to disturb you, but are you Katie Fletcher?" "Who wants to know?" "Chill out, Katie, we're in Mallorca now," Sarah chided. "It's just I have a call for you if you are…. You can take it at the pool bar." Katie grabbed her sarong and followed the waiter. She'd purposely left her mobile in her room. She was On Holiday. Why did people find that so hard to understand? It had better be important. And it had better not be Dan. Suddenly she had a very suspicious mind. "Hello? Katie Fletcher speaking." "One of the problems with having a reputation like mine is that any women who spend any time with me are often sucked into scandals that don't even exist. They all blow over. And for me, well, I guess in the past it's made me look like even more of a stud/love rat depending on whether you are male or female. I know for the women it is more of problem. Guilty until proven innocent. That's what happened with Katie Fletcher. I guess I should have come forward at the time, but with everything else going on, it fell by the wayside. But now Jackie and I are back together and all loved up, I just wanted to set the record straight." "Hallelujah, Stu! I hope that's something real you're reading and you're not just winding me up." "Look, I know better than to write anything. Images, that's my thing." "When did Jamie Joseph say all that?" "Good, isn't it? This week in the Mail. Thought you'd be pleased. And while we're expunging your record, Tom proposed to Louise at the weekend, so consider yourself back in business as the nation's favorite girlnext-door." "Oh, and there I was beginning to enjoy my bad-girl image…." Katie laughed. "Really?" "No. Much prefer the beach-girl look. Much more my style." "I bet. So what'll you be having?"
Chapter 30: "Pardon?" Katie looked around before she wondered what on earth she was doing. "A drink to celebrate…hey, are you still there? Come on, what do you fancy?" "Where are you…?"
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"Look left." Suddenly Stuart appeared at the far end of the bar clutching the newspaper, his mobile clamped to his ear, looking very overdressed, and very hot, in his jeans and T-shirt. "Hello." Katie was speechless. Now face-to-face, Stuart hung up and Katie followed suit. "What on earth do you think you are doing? There are golden rules about not interrupting girlie holidays, you know." "Good to see you, too. I've only flown over for the weekend. Some of us have to work on Monday. Besides, Sarah knew I was coming. She was the one who told me where you were staying." "Where did you get her number?" "The research briefs in the file you didn't read." "Ah." "And here she comes now." Indeed Sarah was heading their way. "Surprise." Sarah planted a kiss on Katie's cheek. "Indeed." "I didn't think you'd mind. You don't, do you? It's about time I sent a few good deeds in your direction." "I'd forgotten you were always the interfering one. Hilarious. Two weeks ago I wouldn't have imagined in a million years that I'd be sitting at a pool bar in Mallorca with my estranged best friend and my gay director." "Hey, less of the gay. That's my reputation you're playing with, Madame Man-Eater!' "You mean you're a closet heterosexual?" "What's with the closet?" "So you definitely haven't in the past nor are now considering dating men? It's just, you know, I've had a bit of a time of it." "Definitely not." "Swear?" "Swear, despite your attempts to sabotage my reputation. Thanks to you I've had to defend my sexuality at work." Katie blushed and hoped Stuart thought it was sunburn. "Sorry. I didn't realize…"
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"I'd hope so. So I can be a bit camp at times, I dress well, and I can coordinate my arms and legs on a dance floor, but that's as far as it goes." "Really…?" "Promise. I mean what sort of gay man pretends to be straight…? Okay, in your case that's not a great example…." "It's just that I'm not sure I can deal with any more ups and downs." "So is that no to a drink then?" Stuart's shoulders slumped a little in defeat. "I didn't say that." "She'll have another jug of sangria." Trust Sarah to take over. "What about you, Sarah?" Katie asked. "I'm off to play tennis. I'll catch up with you guys later." "Oh, okay. Have fun." "You, too." Sarah smiled to herself as she left for the room. "So…sangria?" "Yes, please. You heard the lady." "Glad to see you've assimilated in less than seventy-two hours." "We're practically Spanish now." Stuart laughed and Katie continued. "… Well, you know what they say, when in Rome…. Tennis, though — I'm very impressed. I should exercise more. I didn't even know they had courts here." Stuart smiled. "They don't." Katie looked around, but Sarah was nowhere to be seen. Stuart, on the other hand, was right there.
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Return to Tyler: A Hero for the Holidays by Jacqueline Diamond Keith broke Sunny's heart last Christmas. She thought she'd seen the last of him—until he showed up at her door! Why has he returned to Tyler? Read Chapter One of Jacqueline Diamond's A Hero for the Holidays!
Chapter One Sunny had never expected to see the man again. She wasn't sure she wanted to see him now. But there he stood, dominating the doorway of Books and More. Sunny owned the bookstore just off the picturesque main square in Tyler, a small, close-knit town in southern Wisconsin. There he was, Keith Jamison, the man who, a year ago, had pretended to love her and then had broken off their brief but intense relationship as if it meant nothing. His neatly trimmed, sandy hair and the tailored overcoat stretching across his broad shoulders gave Keith the air of a man in charge. But there was a wariness in those blue eyes that touched Sunny more than she wanted to admit. "You have a lot of nerve, showing up on Christmas Eve." She smacked a book on the counter so loudly that the only remaining customer in the store, librarian Elise Fairmont, jumped. Keith nodded toward Elise. "I was hoping we could talk somewhere private." "I think you said it all on the phone." He'd left on New Year's Day because of what he claimed was a family emergency, and called her long-distance two weeks later. "Don't remind me…." "Let's see if I can remember the words. Oh, yes. 'I'm sorry, it was a mistake. I won't be returning to Tyler. It's better if we both go our own ways.' Does that about sum it up?" At 28, Sunny had nurtured her dreams of finding a soul mate for many long, lonely years. Then, as if by fate, her yearned-for hero had arrived last Christmas Eve after her car broke down outside town in a snowstorm. The stranger had driven her home to her farmhouse. Snowed in for a week after the storm, they'd quickly fallen in love, or so she'd believed. She'd given herself freely to her first-ever lover, only to discover that he'd apparently been using her as entertainment for the holidays. "I knew you'd be a hard sell, but I had to come back." Keith gave her a disarmingly warm smile that flashed a boyish dent in his cheek. "I've sure missed you, Sunny." "Oh, spare me!" She stopped as Elise came to the counter with a book. The librarian, who had patronized the bookstore since Sunny's parents founded it 20 years earlier, frowned at her in concern. "You're coming to the party at the Timberlake Lodge tonight, aren't you, Susan, dear?" That was her real name, Susan Barlow. Only the older residents of Tyler used it, though. "I…" Sunny glanced down at her simple black outfit. She'd brought along jewelry to dress it up for the occasion, an important annual event for Tyler's business and professional community. But she wasn't sure she was in the mood to party.
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"I'll be watching for you," Elise said, and shot Keith a warning glance. Sunny hadn't talked about her mystery lover, but there wasn't much that escaped people's notice in this town. And word about anything romantic traveled like wildfire. Maybe that was how the ladies of the quilting circle always seemed to know, as if by magic, to prepare an appropriate quilt as a bridal gift, no matter how unexpected the wedding. Not that Sunny ever expected to receive one of those quilts. She finished gift-wrapping Elise's purchase. The librarian departed. It was five o'clock. Sunny prepared to close the shop, trying to ignore Keith's bemused presence. She loved this place and had run it since her parents' deaths in a fire at the farmhouse nearly two years ago. Last February, she'd learned that she couldn't afford to keep it unless she sold the farm. Either way, she would lose a precious legacy for which her parents had worked all their lives. "Sunny, I'm not giving up until I've said what I came to say." Keith's words yanked her back to the present as he moved purposefully toward her in the empty store. "You have to listen to me." Although she was five feet eight inches high, he stood a head taller. The closer he came, the larger he seemed. As Sunny caught a whiff of his tangy cologne, memories flowed through her. The strength of his arms and the gentleness of his mouth. The feel of his bare chest beneath her hands. The naked power of him, poised over her… She took a quick step backward. "All right, I'm listening. So get to the point."
Chapter Two "I'm back," Keith said. "I want to recapture what we had together." Sunny stared at him in shock. "Do you think I'd be crazy enough to trust you again after what you did to me?" "Please hear me out. I promise to make a good case for myself." Beneath his teasing tone, she heard fierce determination. Was it possible he truly cared about her? Despite the pain she'd been through after Keith left her, Sunny had to admit that she hadn't stopped loving him, no matter how angry she'd been. "You've got five minutes to talk while you walk me to my car," she said. "I'm parked on the other side of the square." "Fair enough." Keith helped her into her coat and opened the door to a gust of frosty air. Trying to ignore the warmth of his nearness, Sunny stepped outside and locked up. "No burglar alarm?" he asked. "We don't get robbed in Tyler." She led the way across the open square, its leafless oak trees glimmering with white bulbs. A colorful display of holiday lights winked from the nearby Gates Department Store. "That's what you think." Keith's provocative comment made Sunny stop, her heart racing.
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"What do you mean?" Her breath created a cloud in the chill evening air. "Did someone get robbed?" "You're about to." There was no humor in his expression now. "By your father's cousin, Everett Barlow." Sunny couldn't believe she'd heard him correctly. How could he know about Everett? The elderly man, who lived in St. Paul, Minnesota, had loaned her parents the money to buy Books and More. Although she was certain her parents had repaid him years ago, Everett had declared after their deaths that they hadn't given him a cent. Since her parents' papers had burned in the accidental house fire that killed them, Sunny had no way of disproving his claim. To repay him, she was faced with taking out a large bank loan or selling the farm that had been in her family for generations. "How do you know about Everett?" she demanded. After all, Keith had simply been driving through town last Christmas Eve and rescued her when her car broke down. He had no way of knowing about her financial troubles. "It's cold," he said. "Can we sit in your car?" Somewhat reluctantly, Sunny agreed. Although still angry at Keith, she wanted to find out more. She led him to her station wagon. "All right. Now answer my question, please," she said when they were seated inside. "As I mentioned last year, I'm a lawyer," Keith said. "What I didn't tell you was that I came to Tyler on business. I was looking for a woman named Susan, not Sunny. We only used first names when we met, and I'd been told that Susan Barlow was staying at a boardinghouse, not a farmhouse." "You came here to see me?" she asked, stunned. "I didn't realize who you were until after we'd made love," he said. The blood drained from Sunny's face. She'd been a virgin when, yielding to a rush of tenderness and love, she'd slept with a man she hardly knew. This man, Keith Jamison. "Everett sent me to get your signature on a contract acknowledging that you owed him the money," he said quietly. "He's my stepfather, so I agreed to do it on my way to visit friends in Chicago." "You were going to help him cheat me?" she demanded. Her cousin had mailed her the contract later, but she hadn't yet signed it. "I didn't suspect any wrongdoing." Keith rested one arm across the seat back, almost touching her. "Recently, after my mother died, I came across some evidence…. It isn't absolute proof, but knowing my stepfather, I became convinced he was lying." Emotions tightened inside Sunny's chest. Although she was eager to know what Keith had found, she couldn't stop thinking about why he'd come to Tyler. "So what happened between us was just an accident?" Her throat felt thick. "A wonderful accident." He leaned closer. "Sunny, I left because I got word my mother was ill, as I told you. Later, I decided my unintentional dishonesty when I was with you had destroyed any chance of a future with you, so I called and said it was a mistake. But I was wrong. Please give me another chance." "To do what?" She could barely see through the sheen of tears. "To have another fling for the holidays and then go your merry way?"
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A ragged breath escaped Keith. "I've always been a loner. I thought that was my nature. Then last Christmas, here in Tyler with you, I discovered something special. Something I didn't think I deserved, but I realize now it's worth fighting for." His handsome face was only inches away and his blue eyes sparkled with reflected white light from outside. He looked so magical that Sunny almost yielded to the urge to kiss him. She felt the tug of warring desires within her, and the promise—or was it the danger?—that the bond between them might be too strong to break. She couldn't send him away. She needed his help to right old wrongs. Still, that didn't mean she had to open herself to more hurt.
Chapter Three "You told me you came across evidence that my parents repaid the loan to Cousin Everett," Sunny said, her breath raising a frosty cloud in the car's interior. "Let me see it." After all, she reminded herself, what mattered was proving that her parents had paid off their debt and that she owned Books and More, free and clear. Since her parents' papers had been destroyed in the accidental fire that killed them, she would otherwise have to sell her family's beloved farm or take out a crushingly large bank loan to repay her father's elderly cousin. "You haven't responded to the main reason I came back." Keith touched a strand of her long dark hair gently, as if it were precious to him. "I want to recapture the happiness we found together." "It's too late." Sunny struggled to ignore a pang in her chest. "You were the first man I ever loved. When you broke off with me last January, it hurt me a lot. I won't risk that kind of betrayal again." "I'm sorry. Sunny, I promise—" "I don't want an apology or a promise. Just show me your evidence and then leave me alone. Permanently." Against the strong planes of his face, Keith's blue eyes glittered with vulnerability. Sunny could hardly believe she was speaking so harshly to the man she'd once loved, but she refused to let him break her heart again. "I will show it to you," Keith said, "after we've spent more time together. Last January, I took the coward's way out by leaving, but this time I'm sticking around. My evidence is the only leverage I have to persuade you to talk to me." Despite the chill in the air, Sunny's cheeks heated with anger. "That's blackmail. Get out of my car, Keith." "I promise to tell you everything tomorrow," he said. "I'm staying at the Timberlake Lodge. Since you're heading there anyway, I'll follow you in my car." "No. I changed my mind." Sunny had planned to attend the annual Christmas Eve celebration for business people in her close-knit hometown of Tyler, Wisconsin. But after seeing Keith, she was in no mood to make merry. Besides, it was starting to snow, just like last year, when her car had broken down and Keith, a stranger, had rescued her. Better to skip tonight's party rather than risk getting stranded, since her farmhouse lay several miles outside town. Keith was studying her in the darkness broken only by the holiday lights of the town square. "I promise to come by the farmhouse tomorrow. Then I'll show you what I've brought."
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A moment later, cold air blew in as he exited, and then the door closed. Sunny was alone. Wrenched by conflicting emotions, she watched his tall frame stride across the square toward a luxury sedan. Darn him, anyway! Maybe he was lying about having found evidence. Why should she believe him after the way he'd left her? Furiously, Sunny twisted the key in the ignition. The motor sputtered, caught — then died. "No, no, no!" She tried again, but raised only a weak mutter from the engine. "Why is this happening now?" The answer came to her when she noticed that the trip meter stood at 310 miles. Since the gas gauge was broken, Sunny always filled up at 200 miles. Last week, she'd pulled into the gas station, only to find four cars ahead of her. In a hurry to open the store, she'd left, meaning to stop back later. But she'd forgotten. Sunny's gaze swept the picturesque square and found it empty of townspeople. There were houses only a few blocks away, but she was reluctant to interrupt someone's Christmas Eve to ask for a ride. Besides, in the black dress she'd worn for the party, her legs would freeze. Keith's car pulled alongside and the passenger window whirred down. "Trouble?" he called. Sunny hated to ask for a favor. On the other hand, she hated even more to impose on someone else. Opening her door, she said, "I need a ride to the gas station. This doesn't change anything." "Hop in." Keith gave her a rueful smile. "I'll take you straight there." Sunny grabbed her purse and got out. She would only be in his car for a few minutes, she told herself, and opened the passenger's side door. That was when she saw the handwritten letter protruding from an open briefcase on the floor. Was this the evidence he'd mentioned? As she sat down, Sunny snatched up the sheet of stationery. Keith, a startled look on his face, grabbed for it at the same time. His hand touched her wrist, raising an electric spark. "Don't read that," he said. Sunny eyed him suspiciously. "Why not? Afraid I'll uncover some secret?" Keith released a long sigh and sat back. "I can't blame you for mistrusting me. You're right, Sunny. I shouldn't have put you off. Go ahead, read it."
Chapter Four Sunny fetched a flashlight from the glove box and directed its beam of light on the paper. She couldn't believe it. The paper that she had hoped would help her save the family farm was nothing more than handwritten notes. "This isn't evidence!" she said. "I'll bet you wrote this yourself." "That's right, I did," Keith admitted as he put the car into gear. "Before we both freeze, let's go get gas for your car."
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Sunny felt crushed by disappointment. "How could you lie to me?" "It wasn't a lie," Keith said. "I told you I had evidence, not absolute proof." "This isn't worth the paper it's written on!" In silence, he navigated the deserted streets of Tyler, Wisconsin. Brightly colored holiday lights flashed a greeting from the houses they passed. Loneliness welled inside Sunny. She missed her parents terribly. Now she had no one to share Christmas with except a former lover who had twice betrayed her trust. Once when he broke up with her abruptly, and again tonight. "As executor of my mother's will, I had to retrieve her papers from my stepfather's attic," Keith said. "While I was up there, I stumbled across an old ledger that showed the receipt of loan payments and a zero balance." "Was it my parents' loan?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe. "My stepfather had his own secret coding system. Their names weren't on it, but I figured I could find proof if I looked hard enough. My folks stashed papers in all sorts of unlikely places. So I put the ledger aside and began to search," Keith said. "A short time later, Everett ordered me out of his house." "Where's the ledger?" "While I was searching in another room, he took it," Keith said. "He refused to admit it, of course. When I got back to my apartment, I wrote these notes about what I'd seen. If we go to court, they'll give my testimony more credibility." They turned a corner. Ahead stood the gas station, dark and deserted. "Oh, no," Sunny moaned. Was nothing going to go her way today? "I'll take you home, Sunny," Keith said. "I want to make sure you're safe." She wasn't sure she wanted to be alone with him at the farm. She remembered last Christmas all too vividly, making love with him in almost every room of the farmhouse. Why, they would have made love in the barn and the old potting shed if it hadn't been so cold.… "Keith!" she said. "I just thought of something. After the fire, I found insurance papers hidden in the barn. I just realized I never searched my mother's potting shed, next to the barn." He started the car moving again. "A potting shed doesn't sound very promising." "Until six or seven years ago, Mom used it as an office. Maybe she left something behind." "Let's find out." Snow was falling heavily by the time they reached her house. Sunny had used her insurance money to rebuild it before she learned of the unpaid debt, but she didn't regret it. This was her home, and her connection to the memory of her parents. She'd do anything to keep it. A light in the front room revealed a small spruce hung with ornaments. "You decorated a tree?" Keith asked. "It was an impulse," she admitted.
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"A wonderful one." His eyes glittered with emotion. "My mother was like you, warm and joyful, until Dad died. I guess she was seeking security when she married Everett, but it didn't take long for his true personality to emerge." "His true personality?" "Self-centered and irritable," Keith said. "We learned to hold our feelings inside. Last year, with you, I experienced real happiness for the first time in years." Sunny wanted to believe him. There was no way to sort out the truth right now, though, and she couldn't wait to search the shed. "Will you help me look?" "Of course." After parking in the driveway, he took out his flashlight. "Let's go." They hurried along the walkway. In the snowy darkness, Keith's strong silhouette was reassuring. "You must be freezing." He rested one hand on Sunny's waist. She fought the urge to cuddle against him. "I'm fine." Stopping at the long, narrow shed, she scraped open the door. The scents of earth and dust wafted toward her. "Whew! You can tell I haven't been in here for a while." A tug on the overhead chain activated a wan light. As she stared at the cluttered shelves and piles of clay pots, Sunny's spirits plummeted. She didn't see anything of value. "You're dressed up. Let me look." Using the flashlight, Keith probed along the shelves and behind some implements. "I found something!" He emerged with a cobwebbed file box. Her heart thundering, Sunny accompanied him into the house. A few minutes later, they found what they were seeking: a document signed by Everett Barlow, acknowledging repayment of the loan. Happiness swept through Sunny and she flung her arms around Keith. "If it weren't for you, I'd never have found this!" Without warning, his mouth claimed hers, sending a thrill of pure pleasure through her. Then, abruptly, she pulled away. "I didn't mean to do that." Keith studied her for a long, tender moment. "Let's finish this business with my stepfather so we can celebrate and sort things out between us. I'm going to call and tell him exactly what I think of him." "Wait!" Sunny touched his arm. "It's Christmas Eve. He deserves a chance to redeem himself." "After the way he tried to take advantage of you?" "He has to be suffering. After all, he lost his wife recently," she said. "Maybe he regrets trying to cheat me." Judging by Keith's stern expression, she expected him to argue. However, he nodded slowly. "All right. Without telling him what we've found, I'll ask him to admit that your parents paid off the loan."
Chapter Five
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Listening on the telephone extension in the farmhouse kitchen, Sunny heard Everett's dry voice answer on the other end of the line, in St. Paul, Minnesota. "Hello?" "It's me." Keith, who was using the phone in the living room, didn't call his stepfather "Dad," she noticed. "I'm with Sunny Barlow—you know her as Susan. Your demand that she repay the loan is really hurting her." "That isn't my problem," growled her late father's elderly cousin. Many years ago, when he'd visited her parents, he'd struck her as cranky and cold, and he gave the same impression now. "It's Christmas Eve," Keith pointed out. "I…I'm sure you're a good person deep inside. Please admit that her parents paid off the loan, and we can all have a merry Christmas." "It's my money," snarled Everett. "I'm not giving up a cent." Sunny heard Keith sigh. "Sunny insisted I give you a chance to redeem yourself," he said quietly. "We found her parents' loan papers, signed off by you. She doesn't owe you anything and you know it." A long pause followed. Then, "You're lying." "No, and I can prove it." Keith read from the document, citing the date and place where it had been signed. Everett could no longer deny the truth. "Okay, you caught me. So what? She's young. It wouldn't hurt her to help out an elderly relative." "What you did is vile." Keith spoke with taut fury. "You hit her with this phony loan repayment while she was still grieving for her parents, and you took advantage of the fact that the fire that killed them also burned most of their papers. What a rotten thing to do!" "I'm an old man," whined his stepfather. "I need money." "You have plenty of it." "I might need more in the future," Everett said. "You never know." "Your actions amount to attempted fraud," Keith went on, clearly struggling to contain his anger. "I could take this to the district attorney." His stepfather cleared his throat. "I, uh, I have memory lapses," he said, improvising. "I was sure her parents hadn't paid me. You may be a lawyer, Keith, but you'll never make any charges stick." Even Sunny's generous nature had had enough. "Cousin Everett, shame on you!" She burst out. "You should feel sorry for me," came the response. "I'm all alone. No one cares about me. Tomorrow, on Christmas, I'll be eating a frozen dinner in front of the TV." "I'm afraid my sympathy is all used up," Keith said. "If no one cares about you, it's because you never cared about anyone but yourself." "Maybe if you go to church tomorrow, instead of sitting alone feeling sorry for yourself, you'll find the true meaning of Christmas," Sunny added. "Obviously, you aren't going to find it in your heart." They both said goodbye and hung up.
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She was surprised by how shaky she felt as she went to join Keith in the living room. Revenge was supposed to be sweet. Instead, she would have preferred to see the man redeem himself. On the other hand, her farm was safe, and she faced a future unburdened by debt. Sunny's spirits rose. They rose even further when she entered the living room and caught sight of Keith. He stood beside the Christmas tree, his blue eyes glowing almost as brightly as the colored lights. The two of them were alone, just like last year. She remembered how he, a stranger who'd rescued her from a snowstorm, had taken her in his arms. She'd been swept away on a cloud of happiness. Now Sunny could barely resist running to Keith. She ached to wind her arms around his neck and bring her lips up to his. But did she dare trust him after the way he'd abandoned her last January? Hastily, she searched for a distraction, and found it in the pile of brightly wrapped gifts under the tree. Her many friends here in Tyler, Wisconsin, had brought her presents to the bookstore all week, and she'd had a wrapped book ready for each of them. Sunny had prepared a few extras in case anyone dropped by her house. "I'd like to give you a present," she said. "To thank you for all you've done for me." "I don't need thanks." Keith reached for her hand. His grip was firm but not demanding. Sunny felt his warmth radiating toward her. It would be so natural to lean against him and accept the shelter of his arms. Reluctantly, she pulled away. "It's not really thanks, just a token of my friendship. Pick any one of these." She indicated half a dozen packages on the coffee table. "I don't remember which book is in which wrapping. I meant to write the titles on the backs but I forgot." "Whatever I choose, I'm sure it will have special significance." Keith didn't approach her again, although she could see the longing in his eyes. "There's no special meaning. They're just fun books," Sunny said quickly. He chose the largest one. "I'll try my luck." Silver paper and glittering ribbon slid off beneath his strong hands. "Well, well." Keith held up a large, illustrated history of love. On the cover, Cupid aimed an arrow at Botticelli's nude painting of Venus. Blood rushed to Sunny's cheeks. "I forgot that was in there!" She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'd better make a fire in the fireplace. It's cold in here." "I know a good way to warm the place up." Keith raised an eyebrow at her above the suggestive book cover. "No! I mean…" She stopped, flustered. He set down the book. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Sunny. Please, sit with me for a minute. I want to give you my gift." "You brought a gift?" Surprised, she joined him on the couch. Their legs touched as they sat side by side, but Keith gave no sign of noticing. Sunny's breath caught in her throat as, from an inside pocket, he produced a crimson jeweler's box.
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"What is it?" she asked. "Open it and find out." Sunny's heart raced. Would his gift indicate that he wanted her to be his wife? Sunny wondered. Or was it the kind of flashy gift a man gives to a woman he hopes to seduce?
Chapter Six Holding her breath, Sunny opened the jewelry box. Catching a glimmer of light from the Christmas tree, a large, perfect diamond winked at her from a gold ring. "I…I don't know what to say." Did this mean what she thought it did? "I'd be happy with the word yes." Sitting beside her on the couch, Keith took her left hand between his. "Sunny, I came back because I want to marry you. I hoped you might love me as much as I love you." She couldn't believe he was proposing. When Keith had left her a year ago, she'd believed her romantic dreams were smashed forever. Seeing him again, though, she could understand why, after growing up with a cold, selfish stepfather like Cousin Everett, he hadn't trusted his own heart. "I'll give up my job in Chicago," he said. "Tyler may not need any more lawyers, but I don't mind commuting to Madison. I'm crazy about your farm, you know. And I'm crazy about you. Sunny? Will you marry me?" She wanted desperately to say yes. Yet she wondered if she was thinking clearly. Tonight, Keith had saved her from financial ruin. He'd rescued her, just as he had on the night they'd met, when she'd been stranded in a snowstorm. His presence in her farmhouse on Christmas Eve was reassuring and tender. Also sexy and inviting. She wanted very much to spend the night in his arms. Was that a good enough reason to promise him the rest of her life? Uneasily, Sunny removed her hand and slid away on the couch. "You caught me by surprise. I can't give you an answer tonight." Keith's blue eyes widened in disappointment. Quickly, he hid it with a smile. "Then I'd better stick around and hope you give me the best Christmas present a man could ask for. Any objections to my sleeping in the guest room?" "Of course not," she said. After fetching a suitcase from his trunk, he retired to the spare room. Sunny sat alone by the tree, gazing at the ring. During all the Christmases of her youth, while joyfully celebrating with her parents, she had dreamed of someday sharing her holidays with a husband. A man who would love children as much as she did. A man she could lean on and cherish. Was Keith that man? Sunny didn't have to ask herself whether she loved him. She'd fallen for him the night they met and, despite her efforts to forget him, her feelings for him had never changed. But could she trust him again after the way he'd abandoned her?
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At last, she turned out the lights and went to her room. The bed was cold, and it took a long time to fall asleep. *** All night, Sunny wavered between dreams of happy weddings and nightmares of a wedding where the groom never arrived. Awakening on Christmas morning, she dressed quickly. With luck, she could fix a special breakfast before Keith got up. Passing through the living room toward the kitchen, Sunny stopped. On the floor by the tree sat Keith, cradling a ginger-striped kitten wrapped in a red towel. "Where on earth did you find it?" she asked. He looked up with a grin. "I went for a walk this morning to enjoy the snow and found this little guy mewing out back. Any idea who owns him?" "No one. A stray cat gave birth in the barn. I guess she didn't like me playing with the kittens, because one day they all disappeared." "Well, this one came back." Keith held the tiny creature aloft in his strong hands. "You can name him, if you wish. Of course, we'll want a puppy, too. Our children ought to grow up with lots of animals, don't you think?" Mischief played around the corners of his mouth. He was inviting her to agree with him, she realized. And she did agree, with a rush of joy that brought tears to Sunny's eyes. "Yes," she said. "Does that yes mean what I hope it does?" "It's the kitten's name," she teased. "Don't you think Yes is a great name for a cat?" Seeing the uncertainty on his face, she hurried on, "What I really mean is, yes, I'll marry you, and, yes, our children should have lots of animals." The next thing she knew, the kitten was sitting on the floor and Keith was crushing Sunny into his arms. He gathered her against him and covered her mouth with kisses. "I love you, Susan Barlow," he said when he came up for air. "I love you, too, Keith Jamison." The hardness of his shoulders, chest and hips, pressing against her softness, promised intimacy to come. Sunny was in no hurry though. They had all the time in the world. They had forever, and they were going to spend it together. *** Keith and Sunny were married at the Fellowship Lutheran Church in January. Friends filled the service, and, at the reception afterward, piled their gifts high. The most special gift to Sunny was a quilt that featured a snowflake pattern and the red and green colors of Christmas. Once again, the ladies of the Tyler quilting circle had lived up to their reputation and, confident that she and Keith would find happiness on a snowy Christmas Day, had put their talents to work stitching her a bridal quilt.
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But then, when it came to true love, the quilters of Tyler, Wisconsin, always did seem to know….
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Hope in a Handbag by Annie Jones Finola Barrett is a head-in-the-clouds, miracles-still-happen, Christmas-has-not-gotten-too-commercial-ifyou-have-the-spirit-in-your-heart believer. She is also a woman on a mission—to achieve the resolutions she made for herself at New Year's, almost exactly one year ago: Finding Mr. Right, owning a home, starting her own business and lastly…to find the perfect handbag. She thinks she may be able to complete them in time, if only the man who manages her trust fund—her own personal Scrooge—would approve her business proposal. Will she be able to overcome the banker who stands in her way? Will she ever find Mr. Right? And will she have a great handbag when she does?
Chapter One My name is Finola Barrett and I'm a head-in-the-clouds, miracles-still-happen, Christmas-has-NOT-gottentoo-commercial-if-you-have-the-spirit-in-your-heart believer. I believe in God and try to put my personal faith into action everyday. I believe that people who set goals and work toward them can still realize their dreams. This is my story. It was getting close to that time of year again…the holiday season. I believed that while the first-round draft choices of men where I lived were slim pickings, there was somebody out there for me and I would find him. And lastly, undoubtedly, unashamedly, and to spite every evidence to the contrary, I unwaveringly believed that somewhere out there was the perfect handbag. And when I found it, it would change my life. I lived in Wileyville, Kentucky. It wasn't New York. It wasn't L.A. It wasn't even Indianapolis on Memorial Day Weekend. But Wileyville was my village—as in it takes a village to raise a child. Trust me, raising me from my arrival—as the unplanned baby of a couple of teenagers—to my life as a part-time baker and the town's most used substitute teacher took a communal effort. Even with my grandfather at the helm. When my parents realized they couldn't care for an infant, my grandfather took me in. My mother moved away, eventually to Europe, and started a life that didn't include me. My father, well, because his dad was the one I lived with, I grew up knowing him—and his "real" kids. He sent checks for birthdays and holidays. I never went to his home but I heard it was nice. The house I grew up in is gone now—sold as part of the estate when my grandfather died a few years back. Any other real estate he owned, he gave to his son. Me, I got his money—every last cent. I supposed that meant he had a soft spot in his heart for me. But just to prove that soft spot was in his heart and not his head, he threw up provisions keeping me from my trust fund—which is an awful funny term for something that no one actually trusted me to manage and that left me constantly in need of funds—until I reached the age of thirty. Or until I got married or started my own business and kept it solvent for a year. I guess Granddad thought if I hadn't done any of those things by thirty, there was no hope and I might as well squander his money in the same way I had my life. Countdown to being considered a total failure: Five years. With all that in mind, it's no wonder that the year before I had made four resolutions: to start my own business; to have a home of my own (I rented—above the place where I worked part-time, no less!); to meet
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Mr. Right (meet, not marry. My head may be in the clouds but I still get enough oxygen to my brain to know you don't rush into some things); and lastly…to find the perfect handbag. It exists. I know it does. I'm just hoping it hasn't already been snapped up by my Mr. Right's lovely wife. Those four resolutions I completely and totally intended to see accomplished before the bells rang in the next New Year. The problem was…that was eleven months, five days, seven hours, forty-two minutes and a handful of seconds ago. I had woken up to the unavoidable truth—time was running out! So I decided to do something about it. Really…with two part-time jobs (full-time work is not easy to come by around here in Wileyville), it was time for me to discover my place in the world. "Miss Barrett, I have no room in my schedule today for another one of your…creative business proposals." He was dressed in gray—a suit, of course. And a white shirt that contrasted with his inherited Italian skin tone and thick, black hair. He didn't actually have the words "banker" emblazoned across his back—and believe me, with those broad shoulders, he could have had that and his bank officer/financial counselor title on there to boot. But he didn't have to. Everything about him screamed: This man means business! Which is exactly why I sought him out. Well, that's one reason, at least. Did I mention how broad his shoulders were? His olive skin? Black hair? The way he wore his position of power like a billboard? Hmm, yes, I believe I did. And one more thing—the man owned me. Okay, owned is a bit ominous sounding. Let's just say he was the man who held the purse strings of my financial future. Tight. Think death grip. In the year since he had taken over that job from another banker, our relationship had been adversarial. I thought I would change all that. "Clear your calendar! Make room for me, Mr. Christopher, because I'm not leaving until you hear me out!"
Chapter Two Charles Christopher III was not a believer. At least, not in the same sense that I was. Church-going man of faith? Yep. Advocate of hard work reaping results? Oh, yeah. Enamored of hope in a handbag? Not so much. Okay, not at all. And that went the same for Christmas spirit and New Year's resolutions, I was sure. What I did know of him I had gathered from our "working" together over the year. Strictly business. Oh, and the fact that it was a small town. People talked, especially over breakfast at the bakery. Really, if Wileyville had a hot spot, between the hours of 6:30 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. the Not by Bread Alone Bakery was it. Not to mention what I heard around the schools while subbing. Teachers love to talk. I knew the town and I knew I could make a business work here. I just didn't know how to convince a certain money manager of it. The man had no room in his life for anything that couldn't be collated, cash-valued or crunched. As in number crunching. Which is why he had sent me away and told me not to come back until I had a business plan on paper. Instead, I returned the next day with my plan wrapped in paper. I took a deep breath and clutched my black leather attaché-style handbag to my chest like a life raft. If James Bond had been a woman, this is the handbag Q would have designed for her. Cool, sleek and bought for a song at an off-season shop. It screamed I have power and I know how to use it.
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I had muffins in it. "Miss Barrett?" He looked surprised to see me. "I'm back." I tried to sound cheerful, but not so cheerful that it went around the bend to psychotic. Men like this hardly ever want to do business with the cheerfully psychotic. I held up my purse. "And I brought muffins." "Muffins?" The fact that he did not immediately signal security after that strange little pronouncement gave me hope. But then again, what didn't give me hope? "For you." I started to open my bag. "To show you what I have in mind. I thought you might have more enthusiasm for my wanting to buy and run the Not by Bread Alone Bakery if you had a sample of the kinds of things I plan to serve there." "Miss Barrett, please. Keep your muffins in your handbag." He blinked, shook his head and then—and I could tell he didn't really plan on doing this—he laughed. "Now there is a sentence I never thought I'd hear myself say." "'Til you met me." I smiled. He smiled back, all the way to his dark, deep-set eyes. "'Til I met you," he echoed softly. "You just have to give me a chance, Mr. Christopher. I know I can prove to you that I can make this work. I've watched how that bakery has been run for the last three years—noted every mistake and every opportunity they have had to really make the place a money-maker." "No business that only stays open a few hours a day, that operates the same way it did 30 years ago when the original owners opened it, can be a money-maker, Miss Barrett." "Exactly! That's why I plan to do just that!" "What?" I stuck the muffin practically under his nose. "Change!" He took a deep breath, glanced around the bank lobby and motioned for me to follow him into his office. "Okay, let's get this over with." "You won't regret this," I told him as I brushed past him so close that his silk tie rasped against my Christmas sequined sweater. "Regret spending time with you? Never. Regret that even after I give you as much time as I can spare this morning—which isn't much—I'll still have to tell you no? Always." "Why?" I turned and had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, he was that close. Kissably close. "Why do you always have to tell me no? I think you must enjoy it."
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"Believe me, Miss Barrett…" He raised his hand to almost touch my cheek, then changed direction and, stepping back, rubbed his own temple. "Saying no to you is one of the last things I want to do, but I will do it. I have to. It's my job."
Chapter Three Carried the old standby the next day. The strap was about to go. There was a hole in the lining that ate change and the zipper stuck so bad that I knew one day I would have to take scissors to it to get to my car keys. It was a frayed, frumpy, frustrating fiasco waiting to happen. Which suited my mood perfectly. I mean, really! Sugar-Plum Fairy Fruitcake Muffins. How could the man not immediately see the brilliance in that? The facts: Wileyville needed a bakery. The owners couldn't afford to keep the doors open unless they changed the way they ran the place. They preferred to retire and sell the place off than take a chance. I lived above said bakery and had worked there for three years. There I was, a woman with the motivation and the oven mitts to make it happen. All I needed was… The door swung open, bringing in a blast of cold air. I turned from the knickknacks I had been looking at, startled to see who was shuffling in. "Mr. Christopher! What a surprise to see you here." Here. Gifts'N'Garb. In a town the size of Wileyville, everything did double duty. Barber and beauty salon shared space, the garden shop sold books and the hardware store dispensed legal advice—okay, not legit legal advice but that's where the old men who thought they had all the answers hung out. The women, young and old, didn't seem to slow down long enough to hang out anywhere—not that there was a place for them that would stay open past 5:00 p.m. Which brought me back to the man who was standing awkwardly among the quilted bags, snowflake angels and brightly colored teapots. He took my breath away. I could have just kicked him for that. "Finnie, uh, that is Miss Barrett. I saw you come in here and I wondered…" He made a quick check to see if anyone heard him. Secrecy. It's not just for Santa, anymore. "Call me Finnie." I held my hand out to put him at ease. Yes, and because I liked the way my hand felt in his. "And I can call you, what? Charlie?" He winced. "Chris." Again with the looking around, then that fab smile of his. "Like I said, I saw you come in here and…" "And you chased me down to say you changed your mind about the bakery?" Hey, season of miracles, hope and all…why not? "And unleash those muffins on the unsuspecting people of Wileyville?" He shook his head, kindness in his unyielding eyes. "Actually, I have this sister. Half sister, actually, long story but…she's 13. I need to get her a Christmas gift. When I saw you come in here I thought you might help me pick something out." "Here? For a 13-year-old?" The poor man. I glanced around us. And his poor sister. "Not likely. You want to buy a gift for a girl that age, you're going to have to go to Lexington."
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"Lexington?" He nodded slowly then smiled. Big. Like I'd just solved all his problems. I smiled back, probably looking like a crush-drunk 13-year-old myself. "Great. I can do that tomorrow after work." He started to leave without so much as a thank you. I opened my mouth to remind him of his manners—look, the guy didn't mind being a total pain in my behind, why shouldn't I return the favor? Before I got a word out, he turned, nailed me with that power gaze of his and said, like we were the best of old buds or something, "Thanks, Finnie. When should I pick you up?"
Chapter Four Cute. Cute. Cute. I would usually put function ahead of fashion—really—but for that night I chose a darling little red velvet drawstring bag with a vintage Christmas pin stuck on it for fun. Outfit? Who knew? Chris had rushed out of the store so fast I didn't get a chance to find out if I needed to dress casual or classy. I mean, I always dressed classy, but…you know. So when the knock came at the door, I had nothing but a plush robe, a worn T-shirt, flannel pants and a flimsy story about running behind to cover me. "Am I early?" Mr. Perpetually Punctual checked his wristwatch. "No, I'm…" I was standing a few feet away from this gorgeous guy basically in my pajamas! I folded myself more tightly into my robe. He didn't come inside my apartment and I didn't do the little swing-the-door-open-and-motion-him-in thing that I'd planned when I had played it all out in my head earlier. In fact, I leaned in and narrowed the gap, using the door to shield my body. Did I mention that when I was around this guy I acted like a real dork? He was still waiting for me to speak. "I didn't know how to dress," I said, sort of shrugging. He cocked his head and half smiled. "You forgot how to dress?" "Contrary to the way my grandfather treated me regarding money, I am not a total child." Instead of going for the flirty thing, I figured why not exert a little independence? Then I totally negated it by confessing, "I didn't know what to wear." "Wear?" He frowned and this pleat formed between his brows and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "What would you normally wear to go Christmas shopping?" "Shopping?" I tugged at my robe lapels. "For Ashley?" "Ashley?" "My sister?" "Oh, shopping. For Ashley." What had I thought? That Mr. I'm-always-going-to-tell-you-no had actually asked me out on a date?
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Yes. That's exactly what I had thought. I thought he'd felt what I'd felt that day he stood so close to me and he had decided against his better judgment—no, he had been unable to deny the attraction—and wanted to take me off to a wonderful, romantic retreat to a town 50 miles away where no one would bother us. That he wanted to walk through streets lined with twinkling lights, hear church bells playing carols, hold hands, gaze into my eyes and say… "I've been giving a lot of thought to savings bonds."
Chapter Five We never made it to the mall, to the romantic date or anywhere. Chris had suddenly decided to give his sister the gift of financial responsibility and I had decided to give myself the gift of my special recipe double fudge pecan caramel brownies. As usual, baking inspired me. I wasn't ready to give up on the resolution to open my own business. My most important accessory for the following day would be confidence. Confidence and a briefcase. No purse. Clearly the only way to impress Chris—business-wise, what else?—was to actually present him with a business proposal. So I stayed up all night frantically feeding my computer all my hopes and dreams and ideas about the significance of the small-town business and how much people relied on the bakery at the most important moments of their lives. Weddings. Graduations. Breakfast. "Hey, Finnie!" A teller, someone I'd known roughly since birth, waved as my boot heels clicked across the cold, gleaming floor. "Here to see Mr. Christopher? Did he invite you to the open house?" I eyed her suspiciously. "Umm…" "Well, either way, help yourself to some cake and cookies. We were all supposed to invite customers. Mr. C. invited you, right?" "Open house?" I whipped my head around to see a long table draped in gold cloth and loaded with all kinds of holiday treats. "Cake? Cookies?" "Help yourself." Chris stood in the doorway to his office, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. "Grab what you want and come on in." "Grab something? Oh, don't tempt me, mister. Because right now I'd like to grab you by the scruff of the neck and…and…and…throw you out into the snow!" "What? Why?" "Where did all this come from?" I pointed to the table. "Certainly not the bakery. I live above the bakery. I work in the bakery. If this had come from the bakery I'd have known about it." "We, uh, got it all at the grocery store in the city. Is there a problem?" "Oh yeah. There's a problem. You knew I was coming in here today." "Actually, I didn't." "I've come in here every day this week, so you could have made an educated guess." He laughed and conceded my point with a nod.
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"You knew I'd be here, and you knew I would be coming to plead my case for why I can make the Not by Bread Alone Bakery profitable again. And you staged an open house with baked goods from the grocery store—" "I didn't do it to hurt you or your plans, Finnie. But doesn't it show you something?" "Yes." It showed me that I was never going to accomplish my resolutions if I depended on him for help. "It shows me who is on my side—and who's not." "It's not a matter of sides, it's a matter of space. There is no room in this town for a business that doesn't meet multiple needs." I took my cue to storm out, but not without calling over my shoulder: "Then maybe there's no room in this town for me."
Chapter Six Church purse. Small and sedate. Just like I felt after my baked-goods-induced bout of false bravado at the bank. How I had ever gotten up the nerve to show my face at the church's children's Christmas pageant, I didn't know. Yes, I did. The previous week, I'd been called in to sub and teach first grade and I had promised the kids. It was technically an obligation. I had so few of those around the holidays that I didn't want to miss out. That's not sarcasm. People with tons of friends and family don't realize how empty the calendar seems this time of year to those of us who don't have a lot of either. So I went. Because, though the town might not have room for a bakery, or for a girl who just wants a few simple things in life (four things, if you go by my resolutions), my holiday season had plenty of room for everyone and everything in town. Except maybe…you know who I was thinking about. Chris. There he was in my head again. I couldn't seem to shake him loose. All weekend while I trimmed my tree, mailed my Christmas cards and wrapped presents, he had been right there with me in my stubborn, stupid mind. I should have been totally sick of him by then. "Hi." But I wasn't. I looked up and gave the man a weak smile. "Hi." "Room for me in that pew?" I should have told him no. But, you know, I brought the extra small purse so neither it nor I took up much space. I slid over. "What are you doing here?" "My sister is singing in the choir." He settled in like he belonged there. Not that he belonged in the pew, but that he belonged beside me. So I had to warn him. "Lollie Mulldoon goes to this church." "So?"
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"So?" Sports arenas had jumbotrons to give instant replays and stats. Round-the-clock news shows had constant crawls to keep up with the ever-changing status of the world around us. Wileyville had Lollie. The woman saw all, knew all and, most importantly, told all. "So, you get too comfy in that seat beside me and she'll have half the town thinking we're planning a winter wedding." I always wanted a winter wedding. I blinked, unsure where that thought had come from, and cleared my throat. "Just watch yourself, okay?" He leaned over, his shoulder pressed to mine. I held my breath. "Finnie?" His breath made the feathery curls by my ear flutter. My heart, too. "What?" "Rest assured that everything between us will be just as it should be." Ouch. That put me in my place. "Now hand me a hymnal, please," he said, placing his hand oh-so-gently on my back as we stood, then slipping his arm around my waist as he bent low enough to whisper. "Oh, and don't forget to wave to Lollie Mulldoon." I couldn't say for sure, because just then the music started up and the choir marched in singing Gl-o-o-o-ria, but I think he chuckled under his breath.
Chapter Seven "Sorry. We're closed," I said through the crack of the door. Sigh. That felt waaaay too good to say to the man who had put the kibosh on me buying the very bakery I was standing in and changing a few things—like closing-time policy. "Closed? At eleven—" he glanced at his watch "—twenty-four in the morning?" I opened the bakery's front door the rest of the way to where he stood on the other side. "That's the current owner's policy. We bake in the morning, put everything out and when it's gone, we close." "So if somebody promised to pick up cupcakes for his little sister and then let his schedule get so crowded that he forgot to stop in earlier and only has his lunch hour to—" "Stop. Stop. Okay. This is for Ashley?" "Yeah," he said sheepishly. I motioned him inside, and he slid past me. "When does she need them?" "Uh… I have to get them to the school office no later than 1:30." "Why didn't you go to the grocery store?"
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"Because…the baker there doesn't have your smile." "You play dirty." And I smiled. He did the same. "Go back to work." I flipped a towel over my shoulder. "I'll get the cupcakes to her." "Thanks. I owe you." "Go." Before I turn entirely to gush, I added to myself. Or worse, decide to try to cash in on that debt and start making demands about letting go of some of my money. He nodded and turned, then halfway to the door, he turned back again to say to me, "It wasn't an entirely rotten idea, you know." "Waiting to buy cupcakes?" He shook his head and put his hands in his coat pockets. "You buying the bakery." "What? But…" "It just wasn't…enough, you know?" "No." I mean, really, if I'd known wouldn't I have done something differently? "What did you have in mind?" His shoulders rose and fell, making the hem of his coat swing for a moment, then he cocked his head. "Let's go fishing." "Fishing?" "Yeah, a fishing expedition. Casting around for new ideas, that kind of thing. Go and see what works in places outside of Wileyville. Take what you can use and throw the rest back. Let's take that trip to Lexington that we didn't make before and…" "Fish?" "You fish. I'll hunt. I'll look for a different, more kid-friendly gift for Ash and you go after the thing you need most." The perfect purse? Or maybe some other thing on my resolution list: Mr. Right. "Um, what would that be?" "A good idea," he said with quiet authority. "Oh, ideas I got, pal." Plenty of them, and not all about business. "But okay. If you're asking, I'm accepting. We'll go to Lexington—shopping." "Fishing," he corrected, and swept on out the door.
Chapter Eight I chose a bag to take to work the next day—my last sub day until January unless something unexpected came up—a big bright satchel type which I stuffed with smaller clutches and bags for makeup and so on. And I actually thought to myself, it's like having my own little purse family. Ugh. How sad is that?
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I really needed to make good on those resolutions—and fast! Sub work was ususally slow around the holidays. The regular teachers made every effort to be in class, and not just because the kids brought gifts. In fact, looking at some of the gifts piled up on the table at the back of the room, I couldn't help thinking those might be a good reason to take the whole season off. There they sat: cookies and candies, two rolled cakes (one jelly, one chocolate/marshmallow with holly stuck on top) and a tin marked "Not for Children." Rum balls, I reckoned. Believe me—if I had been a drinking woman…or is that a snacking woman? Either way, the whole collection only served to mock me. Chris was right, they said. This town didn't need a bakery. It needed… What? Maybe the trip to Lexington would help me figure it out, I thought. Lexington. With Chris. "Miss Barrett?" A little girl with red hair and a sweater she had tugged and pulled out of shape at the hem and sleeves stood by my chair. "I made you a card." "Well, isn't that sweet?" I took the crude construction paper offering and admired it like the child had created something worthy of the great masters. And to my mind, she had. "And look! You've got Rudolph at the manger." "I didn't want to get in trouble by making it too relitious… I mean reledge… churchy," she whispered. I patted her hair (subs don't hug—it's a new rule; one I can't stand but that's the way of the world today) and said, "You did just fine. We still live in America and if you want to make a churchy card, you should go right ahead and do it." "I wanted —" she said, twisting her sweater in her hands "—to get you something because you're my favorite sub-sta-tude teacher, but Mrs. Welks didn't say you'd be here until the end of school. I asked…my mom if we could get you something last night, but all the stores in town were closed." Which was why so many people drove up to an hour to spend their money someplace where they could shop, eat…even just meet after work. "It's okay, honey. I like this card better than anything you could buy." She smiled. I sighed. The rest of the day dragged on and all I could think about was how I could use this nothing-staying-open situation to my advantage. Other than how it had already come in handy giving me a reason to go off alone with Chris the next day…
Chapter Nine Purse the next day: backpack. Great for shopping and fending off smart remarks from Chris about my tendency toward the impractical.
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"I had no idea," he had said as I got in his car. "What?" "That you planned on such an extensive trip that we'd need hiking gear." "Not funny." No, but pretty adorable. I hadn't counted on how I'd feel sharing an hour-long car ride with the man. And that was just one way. Then there was the traffic. "Maybe we'd have made better time if we had hiked. Nicholasville Road at Christmastime! What was I thinking?" "You said Fayette Mall. We could have bypassed it all and hit Hamburg Place but…" "Ashley is 13. You want to buy a gift for a 13-year-old you have to hit the mall. It's like a law or something." "Well, I wouldn't want to break the law." "Besides, now that we're here…we can go there." I pointed to the sign proclaiming Joseph Beth Booksellers. "Honestly, I wouldn't consider my Christmas tradition complete without a trip there." "Your Christmas tradition is a trip to a bookstore?" "Well, in my defense, it's not just any bookstore. And…well…it's not like I have a family or anything. Friends try to include me in their traditions but, you know, it only makes me feel more like an outsider than anything." Stop. Stop now, I told myself, shutting my mouth before I blurted out that being in a mall or a huge bookstore filled with holiday shoppers was as close as I got to a warm holiday moment. Except the other night at church with Chris. And, to some degree, the bank's open house—with Chris. Funny. For so long I had dreamed of having someone in my life for just those kinds of things, and then I did—but I didn't. And given our situation, I was thinking I never would—not Chris. Hmm, careful what you pray for, indeed. "Maybe we should skip the bookstore," he said, driving through the lot. "There's no room in the trunk for another bag." "No room is a big thing with you, isn't it?" "It's just simple mathematics." "Mathematics?" "You know, square feet, what goes into what, how it all adds up. What's wrong with that?" "Nothing. At your work. But as a way of life? I have to tell you…" "Tell me over dinner." "Dinner? I thought this wasn't a date." Okay, I was flirting. I liked the guy. He was cute. He was mature. He was honest. "It's not a date." Too honest.
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"But we're in an area where you can get a bite to eat in a place that's not along the highway and has more than just fast food—that's definitely a plus." Plus. I should have known there would have been math involved in his decision. Math was safe. While dinner on the other hand… "Great. It'll give us a chance to talk," I said. "Yeah. I have some thoughts on your business plans." Just business. He said it with a tightness in his shoulders, a grim set of his mouth. He was all about business as he sharply turned the wheel to pull into a parking space. He was all about business with his actions, but not with his words. "Seafood okay?" "Like clams? Lobster?" The only shell I was interested in was the one this man had just crawled into. What was up with him and the numbers and the no room for things that didn't add up? It wasn't just spreadsheets and business plans, I knew it. "Whatever you want." He got out of the car. "Whatever I want? Even if what I want is to have an honest to goodness discussion with you?" I met his gaze over the top of the car. "Like this whole 'no room' deal and how it came to be the watchword for your life?" "Leave it, Finnie." "But…" He got out of the car and the door swung shut, hard. He depressed a button on his remote and the locks clicked into place. Leave it? He had not just closed the door on the subject, he had bolted it down! It seemed there was no room in that man's life for someone who wanted to know him better.
Chapter Ten A doggie bag. Seemed only fitting for a girl consigned to the doghouse, huh? Well, I couldn't just leave it, could I? "Why does everything have to add up?" "What?" He'd asked over his shoulder. "Name?" the host had asked us. It seemed there was going to be a short wait for a table. "Christopher," Chris barked. "Last name?" "That's it."
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I let him alone as we waited for our table. A few short moments later a new hostess motioned to us. "This way, Mr. and Mrs. Christopher." Mr. and Mrs. Christopher. Chris and Finnie Christopher. My heartbeat did a jingle. Sounded good. Too good. Even twenty-four hours later, it still had a sweet, sweet ring to it. "Oh, we're not…" I had held my hand up. Chris intercepted. "She doesn't care about our marital status. Let it go." Let it go. I tried to make it my mantra for the whole evening. I repeated it in my mind so often it began to sound like a holiday song—"Let it go, let it go, let it go!" "So, did you get any good ideas today?" "Ideas?" "You came along to look at successful businesses and to get some ideas, right?" "Actually, I came along to find a purse." Mental note—check to find short in the wiring between brain and mouth. "A gift?" "Not really. Sort of. To myself. I mean, you know my situation, I don't really have family to exchange gifts with and with money the way it is, my friends agreed to just send cards. So—" I can't be sure. I've gone over it in my mind a dozen times since then, but I think, maybe his expression betrayed a little something behind the big bad banker man facade. If I had to describe it, I think I might say it was like he was looking at a kindred spirit. And then it was gone. For him. For me? I couldn't get it off my mind. What had made Chris the way he was? Why was he so set against taking chances? Even when it wasn't his money at risk? And the most important thing I had to ask myself—how was any of this my business? How did knowing that move me closer to my goals? It wasn't selfishness but self-preservation that kicked in that next day when I called and made an appointment for the following Monday to see Chris—on business.
Chapter Eleven "Prequalify me." I smacked my sleek black vintage envelope bag down on the desk right next to the nameplate of a certain Charles Christopher III. "For what?" He glanced up from the paper in his hand.
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For a torrid romance, I wanted to say. I sank into my chair like his very gaze melted the steel right out of me. And despite my no-nonsense bag right out of a black and white big-shouldered gal moviedom, I demurred. "For a house, silly." "A…a house?" Eye batting. "Isn't that the way one is supposed to do things? Prequalify before they go out and start house hunting, Mr. No Room for Risky Business?" "I never said…" "So, do it." I tossed my hair back. "Prequalify me so I can get out there and start looking. I'd like to have a contract as soon as possible." "Finnie, this is all so sudden. Wouldn't it be wise to—" Oh, no. The man had come between me and my resolutions—me and my dreams—one too many times already. I didn't care how cute he was (and he was cute), or how strong and capable (maximum strength of both), or how much I believed there was a wounded soul beneath his hard exterior (yeah, I could see it even now), I had arrived with a plan and I would see it through. "I'll tell you what wouldn't be wise. It wouldn't be wise to tell a person with just—" I snatched up the small calendar on his desk and did the math. "—just twelve days, and two of those days Sundays, not to mention Christmas, left to make good on the promises she made herself last year. Resolutions that she made after quite a bit of thought and deliberation about what she wanted in life, what she found lacking in her life. To tell that person that she should put her life on hold until after the first of the year. That doesn't sound very wise, now does it?" "I have to admit, I admire your optimism." "Thank you." "Don't thank me until I finish that thought. I admire your optimism that you could qualify for a home. I was going to suggest you wait until you had a steady, reliable source of income." "Until I…but you're the reason I don't have those things!" "I'm the reason you're a substitute teacher and part-time baker?" "Yes." He blinked. Some people are so dense. "I'm subbing because a year ago I decided to do what my grandfather said I had to do to be worthy of managing my own money—start my own business. I needed work that was flexible and wouldn't leave my employer in the lurch when I left to start my own business." "Actually, that makes sense." "And I'm a part-time baker because, well, again, because I don't own a home I live above the bakery and it was close and it gave me the chance to learn about business firsthand and…" "A lot of sense," he said softly. "You say that like you didn't think I had any sense at all."
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"If that's the way I've made you feel, I'm sorry." He reached across the table, not to caress my hand but to shake it. Coming from him, the gesture of respect, equal to equal, it meant a lot. "Prequalify me," I urged again. "I'll see what I can do," he murmured, his hand still clasping mine. "But I'm not making any promises."
Chapter Twelve The next day's handbag of choice—a toolbox. That's right! So sure was I of Chris coming through with the loan approval that I'd begun patching up my apartment so I could get my damage deposit back when I moved out. Hey, I wasn't a nut. I understood money and the need for not wasting it. By the same time next year I'd have my own home and I'd have a real tree—a big tree, one that will fill an entire room. I reached down and picked up the Baby Jesus from the manger. And no one could say there was no room for it. In fact, there would be room for all my dreams, for all the people who don't have any place to go—and hopefully for a man. In a few days, Santa Claus would slide down my nonexistent chimney and hand me the remainder of my resolution list in a neat, pretty package. I laid the holy infant down again. Who was I kidding? At the same time the following year I'd probably be in the same apartment doing exactly what I was doing at that moment and hoping for… A knock at the door cut off my train of thought. "Who is it?" "Chris." Chris? "What do you want?" "I brought a surprise." "A pre-qualified loan?" "Better." "Better?" "Don't you want to see?" "If it's not a loan then, no." I lied. "Aw, c'mon, how can you say that? I bet you were the kind of kid who shook every present under the tree." "When I was a kid the only thing I had to shake at Christmas was the card from my father and that just to get out the picture of him with his 'real' family and the obligatory check he sent. My mother didn't even send that
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much and made it clear she did not want me infringing on her new life. My grandfather, as you should have figured out by your very presence in my life, was not a man who liked surprises." "Finnie?" "What?" "I just work for the bank that's following your grandfather's directives. That doesn't mean I agree with them." Wow. Was that an honest to goodness confession of emotion? Of empathy? Of… "Open the door, Finnie. If you do, I promise to make you smile." Chris promised to make me smile. The possibilities sent a shiver down my spine. And just that fast I was at the door and had flung it open to find — "A dog? You brought me a dog?" "Actually, no, Flyboy is my dog. I brought you a job."
Chapter Thirteen "Dog sitting." I tossed my makeup bag onto the kitchen counter. When Chris had asked this favor he had said to make myself at home. I decided I'd just make myself presentable. Home. The man had no idea what a powerful word that was for me. My home. His home as my home. Even more so. Holding my breath, I looked around me for hints of the man and found…not much. Marble countertops. Trendy and probably standard in this neighborhood. Perfectly matched appliances— ditto. Uncluttered. Of course, uncluttered. I wasn't going to find what I wanted most here—Chris. Big sigh. "Life goes on, huh, Flyboy?" A low, growly woof. "Even if you have to push, drag and kick it along," I added under my breath. "And that's exactly what I have in mind." Once I'd done this favor and finished at the bakery, I'd slip over to the bank before Chris got back from picking his aunt up at the airport in Louisville. As usual, I had a plan. A plan that involved a third-party loan officer, a budget and three-years worth of work history. Such as it was. "Pardon me, Flyboy, if this dog-sitting gig doesn't show up on that." I grabbed the can on the counter and began sliding open and slamming shut drawers, looking for the can opener. "But this is hardly the kind of job that's going to get me a mortgage." Still, how could I have said no? And not because Chris held my finances in his hands. But because when he asked me to do it, he said it was because he trusted me.
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"Amazing, huh? The kind of things that would mean the world to me—his home, shopping, his loved ones." I looked down into the dog's huge brown eyes. The dog wagged his tail but I can't say if it was out of adoration or hunger. "The things that matter he drops into my hands, no problem. But with my own money?" Cutlery rattled. Pay dirt. More rattling to pull the handheld opener free from a tangle of serving spoons. Can opener aloft like Liberty's torch, I proclaimed for all present dogkind to hear, "With my own money, the man trusts me not at all. So I am going to go around the man." "Well, it's about time." Heartbeat flailing, I spun around to confront the very man in question. "You're in Louisville." "Flight cancelled." He frowned and scrubbed his blunt fingers through his sleep-ruffled hair. At least, I assumed it was sleep that ruffled it. "And in your pajamas!" I added, again mouth totally unrelated to brain activity. "And you're in my house. At four in the morning." "You said to come by as soon as I got up." "It's four in the morning." "I'm a baker. This is when I get up." "Every day?" "Three years. Without fail." He smiled. Leaned down to pick up the can of dog food I'd dropped and handed it to me. "Be sure and tell the loan officer that when you go to the bank today."
Chapter Fourteen "The last of the packages." I pressed a ribbon on top of the brightly wrapped box and slid it under the tree with the rest of the things I'd gotten myself. It was hokey, but Christmas is a season of surprises and hope. You can't blame a girl for wanting a few surprises! So I'd spent the last few weeks before Christmas ordering things online and through catalogs. Handbags and purses mostly, of course. And every time the opportunity presented itself for me not to know exactly what I was ordering—size, color, trim—I told the order taker, "Surprise me." Then I wrapped each box as soon as it arrived and–voila! Instant dork! Would it help if I said it had seemed like a good idea at the time? I had thought that I would at least have some kind of surprise to look back on come mid-February. Of course, the real surprise that would get me through the bleak winter days was the image of Charles Christopher III standing barefoot and pajama-bottomed in his kitchen. Sigh. Great image. Not hot enough to melt a polar ice cap but definitely a day warmer. Him, all rumpled and relaxed, his eyes dark with sleep, hair soft and ruffled. I'd gone over the sight in my mind time and again and wished more than once that he might have felt the same way as me.
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I glanced down at the gift I'd gotten him and made a mental note to set it aside so it wouldn't get mixed in with my— "Finnie?" Chris called out even as he knocked on the door. I pushed his gift into the pile, hopped up and hurried to the door singing loudly, to cover the sound of my startled heart pounding in my ears, "God rest ye, merry gentlemen…" I swung the door open. He seemed to give me a once-over with that sweet gaze of his. Or was it my imagination? "I thought the person on the outside was supposed to do the caroling." "I was just—' thinking about you '—starting a new trend. Reverse caroling. You like it?" "I do." I do. I took a moment to memorize the way that sounded coming out of his mouth. "Come in, I'm glad you came by." "I can't. I just stopped by because I can't stop thinking about…" He squared his shoulders, giving his big black wool coat a shake. He looked at his hands. "Finnie, I have to ask you something very important."
Chapter Fifteen It was one of the easiest questions I'd ever answered. No, not "Will you marry me?" Not even, "Will you be my date this New Year's Eve?" The question Chris had come by to ask was, "What are your goals?" He'd come by to talk about the concept of goal setting, like a grown-up homework assignment. He even asked me to come by to discuss it after the holiday. When I'd dropped the concise version—in the form of my four resolutions—on him, he had definitely been impressed. Yeah. All four. Included the quest for the perfect purse. I don't think he honestly "got" that one, but the rest… Canvas tote the next day. Red, with sequined Christmas appliqué. Made it myself to carry baked goods to…well, to everyone who didn't have time to go to the grocery store and buy them there this year. By late morning it was empty, save a lone gift. I gulped in some air. Aware of the long line of people trying to get their banking done before the doors closed in 20 minutes, I whispered to the teller, "Would you know if, um, Mr. Christopher is busy?" "I just saw him go…" Her gaze flickered up from the check and deposit slip I had handed her and she broke into a wide grin. "He's in the conference room, but if you'll just go stand in that doorway over there, I'll tell him you're here." Somehow, she managed to point with her elbow, pick up the phone and tuck it under her chin and slide my finished paperwork back to me. I tried to smack as few people as possible with the nearly empty bag and reached the doorway just as Chris walked up.
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"I thought we weren't meeting until Tuesday." "I'm not here on business. That is, banking…oh…" I dove into the bag up to my shoulder and grabbed the silver and white wrapped gift. I shoved it at him, as I felt a red burn creep up my neck and face. "Here." "Finnie, you shouldn't have." He grinned like a kid on Santa's lap as he said it, telling me I definitely should have. "Open it," I urged. He lifted his head and swept his gaze over the crowded lobby beyond us. Was it my imagination? It seemed like a soft wave of conversation was moving our way down the line from my teller. Maybe not. "Go ahead," I urged him. "It won't embarrass you." "Hmm." He tore off the paper. "It's nothing big. But I noticed you didn't have one and I thought it might be a nice reminder of the season and…" He flipped open the lid. "You are so right about that." I gasped. Burgundy brown, sleek but roomy. Straps just the right length and a brass plate with my own personal monogram engraved. The man had in his hands… "The perfect purse!" "Perfect for you, maybe, but I don't think I have a thing to wear with it." "I must have picked up the wrong box. I only had one under the tree that wasn't…" For me. Too pathetic, even on Christmas Eve. Especially on Christmas Eve. I blinked up at him, wondering if it was more or less pathetic to ask him to come and get his real present over the weekend as I had absolutely no plans. He was looking over the crowded bank, a funny look on his face. I opened my mouth to say…something. "Excuse me." A little boy with a candy cane sticking out of his mouth tugged on Chris's pant leg. "My mom told me to come over here and do this." The kid removed the candy cane and pointed it up to a spot just above our heads. Mistletoe. Guessing the same thing I had, Chris shot the teller who had put it all into action a you-just-made-mynaughty-list look, grabbed my arm, reached up to snatch down the offending fungus, and pulled me into the seclusion of the hallway beyond the lobby. "Sorry about that, Finnie." "Yeah. I know. No room for that kind of holiday frivolity in your…" His mouth covered mine, softly at first, then harder, fuller. He pulled me close, as close as he could with bags and boxes between us. But I didn't care. All I cared about was Chris and the moment and…
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He pulled away, closed his eyes and whispered, "Spend Christmas with me." "Oh, Chris." I lay my hand on his warm, smooth cheek, my heart full and my head swimming as I murmured, "I don't know whether to kiss you again or slap your face."
Chapter Sixteen The perfect purse, the perfect kiss, the perfect holiday, the perfect… Oh, grow up, nothing is that perfect! But as holidays go, it wasn't bad at all. I mean, how could you fault a celebration that mixed faith, fun, hope and joy? And cold weather ripe for cuddling and food. Tons and tons of food. And mistletoe. I had no idea—until the holiday weekend—how much mistletoe there is in the world! It didn't hurt that Chris gave me the sprig from the bank and I pinned it to a velvet headband. I wore it for our Christmas Eve dinner after church, along with the gift he'd given me. Earrings. Gold with pearls and diamonds. Fake diamonds—or rather, faux, according to the place where he saw me admiring them on our Lexington trip. Big points for observation. Bigger points still for the remark he made after he gave them to me. "I was going to get you that glass piece you liked in the shop in the mall, but I thought maybe it wouldn't fit in your new home." New home. The man believed. He believed in my goals. He believed in my ability to achieve them. It was the best present I could have gotten from him. That and the kiss. Kisses. And the not being left to myself for Christmas. And the weekend of hoping. Hope. It's what the whole season is about, isn't it? It's why I like purses, too. A new purse is like the total girly package. Hope in a handbag. A promise of going places, doing things, getting yourself together— money, makeup and style. Of getting out there to work toward your dreams—and looking fab doing it. I decided to carry one of my new purses to my meeting with Chris the next day. After all, I still had a couple more resolutions to tie up before the New Year.
Chapter Eighteen Exactly one day shy of one year earlier, I had written in my journal: Next year I resolve to start my own business, own my own home, meet Mr. Right and find the perfect handbag. Back then it had sounded so hopeful. So possible. All I had to do was work hard, keep my mind focused, my eyes and heart open and believe. Easier resolved than done. I sniffed and laid my head on my folded arms on top of the table at the back of the Not by Bread Alone Bakery. Or, as it would be called as of January first, This Building for Sale.
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"Dear Lord," I prayed. "After a lifetime of being dependent on the mercy of others for housing, work and even love, all I wanted was…" I shut my eyes. A tear fell onto my soft pink sweater sleeve. "I mean, my grandfather was a good man but he wasn't…" I took a deep breath. Even though I'd closed the shop door twenty minutes earlier, the aroma of rolls and coffee still hung moist in the air. "Nobody ever loved me unconditionally but You, Lord. Nobody ever trusted me to think and work and create my own life, to learn as much from my failures as I did from my successes." And Chris was no different. "The bank isn't going to approve a home loan for you, Finnie," Chris had said. "I thought, given our history, it would be best if you heard from me. I know you have a lot of money in this bank but since you can't touch any of it for five more years, that doesn't really come into play." I started to correct him. To explain about the stipulations in my grandfather's will regarding the trust fund for if I married or started my own business but what was the point, really? The man managed the account, numbers and bottom lines, period. He'd said it once before: it was his job to tell me "no"—to keep me from frittering away my grandfather's estate. If I doubted it, he made it perfectly clear when he cleared his throat, closed the file and added, "On a personal note, I—" "You don't have to say it." He'd already said it, hadn't he? With his coolness. With his demeanor. "You and I have a business relationship. No room in that for anything…more." I held it together even after l rushed out of the bank. In fact, I thought I had been handling everything pretty well until I got the word from the bakery owners that they were throwing in the towel. "I'm going to leave this all in your hands, Lord. But I can't help asking, is it so wrong to want a little love and security?" I sighed and looked up. "And a cute purse?"
Chapter Nineteen It was the eve of New Year's Eve. I popped a tray of cream puffs into the oven. I was only filling prepaid orders at the bakery that day. Wasn't even going through the pretense of opening up for business. Much to the dismay of whoever was banging on the front door. "We're closed today! And tomorrow…and every day after that," I called out. The knocking persisted. I wiped my hands on my apron and hit the swinging doors from the kitchen. They creaked then fell closed behind me with a thump. I whisked off my baker's cap and wadded it into a ball, which I threw into the glass display case by the cash register. Despite the sweet aroma in the air, I was ready to bite the head off of the would-be customer who couldn't take no for an ans— "No," I whispered. Not just one customer. A dozen, easily. Hard to tell just who with their thick coats and winter hats and scarves that hid their mouths and noses—but a crowd nonetheless. And at the head of the pack?
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Lollie Mulldoon pressed her plump, wrinkled face to the glass. "We heard a rumor, Finola." Heard one, Lollie? Or started one? I held my tongue and my ground, staying put in the dim dining area of my soon-to-be former place of employment. "Is it true they're going to close the bakery?" Lollie spoke loud and slow like she wasn't sure I could hear her—or perhaps that I wouldn't understand her. I opened the door and poked out my head. "No. They are not going to close the bakery." Her big round shoulders relaxed. A murmur rippled through the knot of onlookers. "They already have closed it," I all but shouted. That's when everybody started talking at once. "They can't…" "This place is a landmark!" "Where will I get my…" "Can't we do something?" "Calm down, everyone. We can do something. And we will." I heard him before I saw him. Then there he was, pushing his way to the front of the crowd, his eyes kind but wary and his black hair wind-whipped. It was Chris. "Hey, Finnie," he said softly. "Think there's enough room in there for a few good friends who want to see what they can do to help?" He had a box under one arm—the gift I had given him, now unwrapped—and his briefcase in one hand. His wool coat hung open to reveal a rumpled dress shirt and tie loosened at the neck, as if he'd been up all night and gone to work in the clothes he'd worn the day before. I don't think I'd ever seen a man look more worn down—or more gorgeous—in my entire life.
Chapter Twenty It was New Year's Eve. My deadline. And there I stood, in the bakery surrounded by the warmth and moisture of the last of the pre-orders, waiting. Not for midnight, but for closing hour at the bank when Chris would be free to come over and tell me the rest of his plan. "I came to thank you for the gift," he had said. "Did you get it—the meaning behind it?" "Let's see, it was a manger set, so aside from the obvious Christmas connection, I'm guessing…no room in the inn?"
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"Yeah. No room in the inn, but always room for love," I softly added the little speech I had practiced but had never had the chance to give him. "Love?" He searched my gaze. I held my breath and nodded. "No pressure, though. No expectations." He had brushed back my hair. The crowd had given a collective "Aww." "Why doesn't one of you make some coffee?" Chris had suggested, never taking his eyes from mine. "And we'll get down to our meeting about how we can save this shop." Brainstorming. A lot of great ideas but nothing concrete. Nothing you could take to the bank, literally. At one point I'd made a speech about how we had to grow and change. I even likened a business to a handbag—grabbing up old slouchy, which I'd already reverted to from the sleek new one—and made a pronouncement worthy of fife music in the background. "It's like what I look for in a purse. You have to give me what I always like—the functional and familiar. And you've got to give me something I can't get with something else—I have a wallet. I don't need slots in my purse for credit cards, you know? That's the way it has to be with this business. You can't quit doing what made it stay in business for 30 years, but you have to give people something that no place else in town does. Like a place to get a bite to eat after 6:00 p.m. To make a go of it, this place needs to take some advice from its own name—people don't live by bread alone." People clapped and cheered, but when it came time to solicited investors only Lollie Mulldoon volunteered. Yikes! Lollie as a business partner? The hot spot where people came to start their mornings with a cup of coffee and a shared confidence? Then Chris said he had gotten an idea, but that he couldn't share with me until we met the following day. I thanked Lollie and decided to wait for Chris. *** "Come in." I unlatched the bakery's door lock and let him in. "And…" He kissed me. Nothing hot and passionate—just a quick, sweet kiss that warmed me to the center of my being. "I hope that means you have good news?" I asked, shutting the door and taking his hand in mine. "Depends on your definition of good news." He took my free hand in his. "Did you find an investor? Convince the bank to make a business loan?" "Not exactly." "Then what, exactly, did you do?"
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"I quit." "You quit your job?' "No, I quit as the manager of your trust fund." "Why? You're the best at what you do. Why can't you manage my trust?" "Can't." He shook his head. "Conflict of interest." Huh? I frowned a minute—then the lightbulb went off. "Because you're going to be my business partner and invest in the bakery?" "Partner, yes. Business?" He glanced down at our clasped hands, then into my eyes. "Marry me, Finnie." "What?" "I've been crazy about you since the first day you walked into my office pushing a harebrained business scheme to open a vintage-purse store." Okay, I should have been insulted. At least a little. But the man—the man I had dreamed of since that same harebrained day—had just proposed. I threw my arms around him. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you, Chris!" I kissed him so long and so passionately that only the oven timer's untimely "ding" to warn me that my buns were burning (like I didn't already know that!) could pull us apart. And as I dashed into the kitchen I called out, "Can you believe it? I did it. I made good on all my resolutions and with almost ten hours to spare!" "All?" He followed behind me, his hand up to count on his fingers. "The purse; Mr. Right; a home— presuming you plan to move into mine after the wedding." "Yep. Yep. And yep." "But we still don't have the funding for the business ironed out." I looked at the man who was going to be my husband and decided to wait for another day to tell him about the provision that said getting married would hand me my trust fund. Maybe the next day when we made our new resolutions—the ones we'd work toward as husband and wife.
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To the Edge by Loreth Anne White Canadian RCMP Constable Annie Lavalle has searched for her biological family all her life. So when a mysterious call comes from a man claiming to be her grandfather, she is compelled to travel to the remote Alaskan Bush to meet him. But when she gets there, she’s greeted by the threat of an impending snow storm and an ominous, eerily quiet landscape. Not by her grandfather. Or anyone else. And when she enters her grandfather’s hunting lodge, what she finds will take her into a deadly battle with a notorious Cold War assassin, to the crucible of her darkest fears…and into the arms of the equally dangerous mercenary Joshua Kane….
Chapter One Constable Annie Lavalle hefted her duffel bag onto her shoulder, slightly unsteady on the tippy wooden dock. “So, you’ll be back to fetch me in two weeks?” The Alaskan bush pilot jutted his chin toward a bank of black clouds that hovered over the distant glacier-capped mountains. “If that front humps over the ridge and brings early snow, we could get socked in for a while.” “And then?” “Then, you wait.” His craggy face cracked into a grin. “Until it clears and I can get this bird back in.” In spite of the storm looming over the distant ridge, the sky directly above remained a brilliant eggshell blue. Annie watched the floatplane taxi back out into the lake. She heard the engine power up to a whine. The plane squatted into the water, churning froth, then suddenly lifted light as a bird into the headwind, circling, circling, as it climbed ever upward until it disappeared, a tiny fading buzz, a shimmering speck against the vast dome of sky and massive peaks. As it vanished, a great, cold, brooding isolation descended over the wilderness—the only sounds the crackling of dead leaves in the fall breeze, the faint thrum of a grouse. Annie uneasily negotiated the gangplank. It wasn’t that she was unfamiliar with wilderness. She was taking time out from her rookie RCMP posting in Black Arrow Falls in Canada’s Yukon. But now she was in Alaska. The rugged Bush region. The last frontier of the Last Frontier, as it was known—no roads, totally off grid, incredibly wild country where one was stripped to his—or her—basics in order to survive. A land as hostile and unforgiving as it was dramatically beautiful. And she was well out of her jurisdiction as a Mountie. But she hadn’t come as a cop. Annie had come because the owner of this isolated hunting lodge, Jack Marais, had written out of the blue claiming to be her grandfather. He’d said he was nearing the end of his days, that he wanted to meet Annie and give her a diary that she— and the rest of the world—would want to read. A diary he’d kept up-to-date and hidden in a safe behind his library walls for seventeen years.
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He’d said he needed to tell his story now, in order to make peace with his God. It was a strangely mysterious call that Annie, an orphan constantly in search of her heritage, had been compelled to answer. She’d done some investigating of her own before coming out here, but all she’d managed to learn about Jack Marais was that he was in his late 70s, and that locally he was referred to as the Old Man. He apparently hailed from Europe, and had lived in the Alaskan Bush for close on twenty years, running this lodge. No one seemed to know much else about him. And he hadn’t come out to greet her. No one had. The Old Man had told her a skeleton staff of three would still be at the lodge when she arrived, closing a few things up after the hunting season before leaving him to live there alone through the winter. But the place felt desolate, disquieting. Annie approached the building. The hulking shape of weatherworn logs, stone chimney and porch squatted dark and ominous in the dense, dry willow brush, its windows watching her like silent, hooded eyes. Bleached moose antlers hung over a screen door that banged gently in the chill breeze, the green paint around the door’s edges peeling. An involuntary shiver rippled over her skin. She inched open the door. “Hello! Anybody here?” She stepped into the dim room, eyes adjusting. The place was in disarray, drawers pulled out, their contents spilled. In the middle of it all, in a bent willow rocking chair, sat a man. He was stone-still, staring directly at her. But Annie knew in her heart—she could feel it with every sense in her body—that he saw nothing. Unsheathing her hunting knife, she stepped cautiously forward. A board creaked. She stilled, heart thudding as her mind tried to process what she was seeing. Blood, lots of it, drenched the man’s shirt, pooled gelatinous at his feet. It came from a dark, ragged cut across his throat. Murdered. Her brain raced. It wasn’t the Old Man—he’d sent her a photo… So who…? Then she heard the rack of a round being chambered into a gun. She froze, turning very, very slowly. A rifle muzzle was pointed dead at her face. And sighting down the barrel was a pair of cool, cobalt-blue eyes that turned her heart to solid ice. “Don’t move,” he said in a slow drawl, finger curling around the trigger. “Or I will kill you.”
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Chapter Two The man with the gun appraised Annie like a practiced hunter: predatory, cold, calm. Too calm. She sensed something lurking in him that went beyond dangerous. Perspiration prickled over her brow. Think fast, Annie, buy time. “What do you want?” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. “To know who you are.” “This…this is my grandfather’s lodge. I’ve come to see him, the Old Man.” He studied her quietly and long. The door banged louder in the mounting wind. It hit her that the entire lodge was freezing—no heat. Likely off for a while. A whisper of fear encircled her heart. “Who is this man?” she said, her voice coming out hoarse. “Why’d you do this to him?” He lowered his rifle slowly, but she felt no less in the crosshairs as his blue eyes lasered hers, pinning her. Assessing. He was well over six feet tall with dark blond hair that could use a trim and a rugged fierceness to his features that brooked no argument. His bearing appeared military. An urge to flee tore at Annie. Her gaze flicked through the disheveled room. She saw a phone on a table near a door. “He’s the lodge caretaker,” the man said. “And I didn’t kill him.” “Who did, then?” she demanded. He lowered his gaze to the knife clutched tight in her hand. “Maybe you did. You looking for something, sunshine?” Annie backed toward the phone, her throat thick. “I…I’m calling the police,” she whispered. “If you didn’t do this, you won’t mind, right?” She reached for the handset. “No can do, sweetheart. Line’s been cut. No radios. Nothing. Just you and me and the wind. And dead guy here. So why don’t you give me that knife and tell me your name?” He held out his hand. She tightened her grip on the hilt. “Where’s my grandfather?” He said nothing. The door banged. “There’s also supposed to be a hunting guide, and a chef—“ “Give me that knife, sunshine, and tell me your name.” He came closer. Annie’s eyes darted to a gun rack on the wall near a mounted deer head. It held rifles, a shotgun. “My name is Annie,” she said, inching toward the rack. “Annie Lavalle.” A lazy amusement danced in his eyes in spite of his animal-like alertness. “Your accent, it’s French Canadian. Tres sexy. “ Nerves shimmered. “I’ve told you who I am. Your turn. What in hell happened here?”
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A smile ghosted the corners of his mouth. “I’m Joshua Kane, lodge chef. I found the caretaker like this right about the time you came in that door. I just got back from hunting,” he said, watching her closely. Reading her. Suddenly she lunged for a rifle on the rack. But he grabbed her arm and spun her around, the knife skittering across the wooden floor. Annie reacted fast and violently, as she’d been trained by a top Israeli martial-arts instructor in Depot Division who’d taught her the merits of skill over brute strength. Annie had nailed many male RCMP recruits in training, and she now rammed her elbow back into his gut, spinning— But this man was not like them. He was quicker, more skilled, infinitely more powerful, and he had her slammed up against the wall, breathing hard, before she could even think. Just a breath away from her face, pressed hard against her body, he was even more intimidating, his eyes more mesmerizing. His aura sucked her in and she could smell aftershave, which surprised her. “Try that again, my little Rambo,” he whispered near her mouth, “and next time I might hurt you.” He paused, something shifting dangerously in his eyes. “By accident,” he added. “And I don’t like hurting girls.” She closed her eyes, heart jackhammering, a combatant energy lacing into her fear, into her adrenaline. And damned if his touch wasn’t…exciting. She didn’t want him to see that fact in her eyes. She was afraid of her own sudden physical reaction to him and to being roughed up like this. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” Annie said quietly, trying to match his tone, trying not to show weakness. “Where is my grandfather?” He put his mouth even closer to hers. “He’s dead, Lavalle.” Her brain stalled. “Like I said, it’s just you and me, sunshine, and this dead guy. We’re stranded. And if you didn’t do this, somewhere out there is the killer who did.”
Chapter Three Joshua watched shock flare in Annie’s face as she digested the news of her grandfather’s death. Then her eyes narrowed sharply, shifting to fierce disbelief. Prettiest damn eyes he’d ever seen, flashing with gold Acadian fire that turned him on in the most basic and fierce way. Sexy little gap between her teeth, too, and a fine smattering of freckles on creamy pale skin. And that Quebecois accent—hot. The whole package grabbed his lust by the throat. But there was more. Something about Annie’s reaction to murder that was far too calm, and far from normal. She was also a skilled fighter—she’d almost had him by surprise. She could be from Europe, working for them. The cute Quebecois thing might be a cover. He’d better watch his back. Although he’d prefer to watch her pretty little ass. “I don’t believe you,” she said through clenched teeth. “What have you done with the Old Man?”
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“You a cop or something, Lavalle?” She swallowed. “No.” He nodded slowly, eyes tunneling into hers. He knew a liar when he saw one, and she was lying. It made him even more wary. She could have done this, killed the caretaker. And the Old Man. “What’re you doing here, Annie Lavalle?” “I told you, I came to visit my grandfather. I—“ She hesitated. “I came to meet him.” “You don’t know him?” Her eyes flickered. “No.” He believed her this time—he could see it in the movement of her eyes. Joshua had lived along the fringes of society, in a murky mercenary underworld of shadows and lies for so long now, that reading people, making snap judgments based on gut instinct, had become a matter of survival. “Why now?” he said. “Because he wrote me now. Said he had things to tell me about…about my mother, about his past.” “Your mother?” “I’m adopted. I…I’ve never known who she is.” Curious. Very, very interesting, especially given the Old Man’s twisted and sinister history. “And he was just going to tell you…everything about his past?” “Would you let me go, please?” She was definitely hiding something. He was still holding her close, the swell of her breasts soft and warm against his chest. He could feel the thrum of her pulse under his fingers. Her scent was delicious. It heated him from the inside out. Joshua realized he was in a spot of interesting trouble here. She was the kind of woman who really did it for him physically—a dark-haired little spitfire who roused a hot sense of challenge in him. A woman who could hold her own and look damn sexy while doing it. Then again, he had to be careful. She could be the enemy. And even if she was who she claimed to be, there was no way he wanted to fall for a woman on the job, especially not in a situation like the one little orphan Annie Lavalle had just landed
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herself in—she’d walked slap-bang into a double-black CIA operation that had already gone wrong. If she was innocent. He whispered against her ear. “I’ll let you go, but if you try anything, Lavalle—“ “I won’t.” He released her and she cursed, rubbing her wrist. Eyes angry, wild. Provocative. And she was judging, weighing him, just as fast as he was her. Deciding whether to flee. “I wouldn’t try running, sunshine. Nowhere to go between those mountains out there and the Bering Sea. And like I said, if you didn’t cut this man’s throat, whoever did could still be out there. You’re safer with me.” “I highly doubt that,” she muttered in French. He smiled to himself, not letting on that he could speak the language fluently, along with five others. He moved toward the body and started hefting it off the chair. “What’re you doing!” “Getting the dead guy into the freezer.” Her pretty little mouth opened in shock. “You can’t—“ “You got a better idea, sweetness? State troopers, FBI, they’re going to want to see this, and burying him will bury evidence. Can’t leave him out here, either. Big brown Kodiak mothereffer in the region, saw her prints down in the lake mud this morning about a mile out from the lodge. That’s blood on this man’s shirt, and that bear is going to get wind of it before long. Need to clean this up.” Annie’s stomach somersaulted as the dead man’s head flopped back, making the jagged gash yawn into a wide red maw. A claw of claustrophobia suddenly hooked into her fear, catapulting her mind back to when she was fifteen years old. “You going to help, Lavalle, or you just going to stand there looking cute?”
Chapter Four The dead man was heavy. Annie had his feet, Joshua his upper body. The victim had bled out quickly through his carotid artery, so he wasn’t too messy. Joshua halted outside the meat locker, perspiring under his shirt. He reached for the door and pulled the metal handle. Freezer smoke fingered out in curling wisps around the door. “Put his feet down,” he ordered. “I’ll take him from here.” Annie’s gaze flicked between the door and Joshua. “No. I’ll help.” He crooked up a brow. “Why?”
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“Because I think you don’t want me to see what’s in there. And I do. That’s why.” He studied her a beat. “What did you say you did for a living, Annie?” “I didn’t.” He waited. “I’m in…human resources, okay?” He studied her for several seconds. “There are some carcasses—” “I’m holding a dead man’s feet. I think I can handle hunting meat.” “Your grandfather’s in there, Annie.” She blanched instantly. Eyes wide. “What?” “I found him in the woods early this morning. It looked like he had been shot—hunting accident, maybe.” She slowly lowered the dead man’s feet to the floor and wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve. Her hand was trembling. Joshua recognized the look on her face—the moment of realization that she really was trapped, and in serious crap. And he could see her fighting a growing fear and confusion. He felt a spurt of compassion. “There’s brandy in the kitchen,” he said softly. “I’ll take him—“ She gritted her jaw, drawing on fire buried somewhere deep within. She grabbed the feet. “Go.” “You don’t have to—“ “I do. I want to see him. He was the only living relative I’ve ever found. And someone has taken him from me before I could ever speak to him, before I could ever hear his voice, see his eyes. Before—“ her voiced hitched. “Before I could find out who in hell my parents were.” So that was it. That was what drove orphan Annie Lavalle. A need to find family. And through it, possibly herself. It told him a lot. Compassion drilled even deeper into Joshua, and with it a small coal of admiration began to flicker. Not only did she get to him physically, he suspected he could like this woman on other levels. And fast. Too fast. That made her dangerous. Because he was now inclined to believe her, and doing so could cost him if she was playing him with this convincing little speech. But if what she said was true, if she really didn’t know who her grandfather was, she sure wasn’t going to like it when she learned who she was related to, what dark line had sired her.
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Joshua decided to call his CIA handler tonight, have them check out her story while she was asleep. *** Annie stared at the body of the man who’d been her grandfather. Frozen, bluish-white and very lifeless now, he’d clearly been a robust man for his 78 years. Freezer frost already covered his beard and grizzled his thatch brows. His thick hair was covered in hoarfrost as well. His frozen eyes stared blindly at something only he had seen at the time of his death. The black hole in his temple was small. Close range. Small-caliber handgun. Joshua was watching her, she could feel him. “This was no hunting accident,” she said quietly, gazing at her grandfather’s face, trying to find her own features in his. “This was a pistol, up close and real personal. Contract or gang style.” She spun to face Joshua, glaring at him, her pretty cheeks and nose pink from the meat locker. “Who are you really, Joshua Kane?” “I told you—I’m the lodge chef. And I’m thinking that you know a little too much about guns and crime, Ms. Lavalle.” She swore under her breath and shoved past him, exiting the meat locker. She stomped her boots on the ground to warm her feet. But when Annie looked at him again, Joshua saw that she was battling something inside her. That compassion in him drilled deeper yet, that coal of admiration glowing a little hotter. “Come,” he said gently. “I’ll pour you a brandy.” It was getting dark out, the first flecks of snow flitting from a lowering gunmetal sky. The storm was blowing in much earlier and faster than expected. It would be a full blizzard in minutes. The Fox was probably long gone anyway, thought Joshua. He’d try and hunt the assassin once the weather abated—and once he had Annie figured out.
Chapter Five Joshua had softened his edge. He looked more renegade Alaskan cowboy than ex-military now. And he smiled a crooked, wickedly sexy smile as he handed her a rather substantial mug of brandy. Annie tried to keep her hands from trembling as she took it from him. “It’s getting cold,” she said, trying to explain her shivering. She hated fear in herself. More than she hated appearing female and weak. It was why she’d become a cop. To fight back, to fight the fear that had taken root when she was fifteen and had been trapped for days in a bank vault. Usually she could beat it back. But right now she couldn’t seem to knock it back down. This sense of being stranded, trapped, not in control, was plunging her back to that hostage incident at a Montreal bank all those years ago, making claustrophobia and panic stalk softly along the edges of her mind.
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“I’ll start a fire,” Joshua said. “Right after I’ve cleaned up some of this mess. Whoever did this was clearly looking for something.” “Do you suppose he found it?” Annie asked. “I have no idea what happened here.” She watched him. Her captor? Her savior? Could be anything. Maybe even her killer—a psychopath playing some sick game, picking people off in this lodge one by one and stashing them in the meat locker. Maybe he was saving her for later. Maybe he had other plans; she’d seen sexual interest in his eyes. Though, oddly, it had tingled her spine rather than scared her. Perhaps because she’d sensed a compassion, too. Annie took a quick and deep slug of brandy while he wasn’t looking. “There’s more where that came from,” he said, cracking a piece of kindling over his knee. “What? You got eyes in the back of your head?” “Just good instincts.” He crumpled newspaper, lit it, and the flames licked the wood to life. She moved closer in spite of herself. There was nothing else to do but wait this out, play his game one careful step at a time until she figured out what was going down. No one would even begin looking for her until a fortnight had passed. She was on her own. And that’s when she saw the handgun tucked into the back of his jeans, under his shirt—a Walther P22. “So, where’d you hone instinct like that, Joshua? The military?” He glanced up at her and the firelight caught his eyes, shocking a jolt to her stomach. She sipped her brandy, warmth spreading through her body along with a very dangerous physical attraction to this potentially lethal man. He got up, came close. “Hungry?” he whispered. Again, a ribbon of heat snaked through her. “Only for the truth.” He moved to the counter, held the brandy bottle out to her. “More?” She shook her head, and he poured a drink for himself. Annie noted that even though he was going through these motions—making a fire, taking a drink—something in him remained keenly aware, watchful. He might have softened his glacier edge, but he still didn’t trust her. And she certainly had no cause to trust him. “How long have you tried to find your mother, Annie?” he said, taking a swig. “You expect me to talk about myself, when you won’t tell me what in hell is going on here?” She pointed to the north end of the lodge. “You have two human bodes in a freezer with the
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skinned deer and moose, Joshua. One of them is my grandfather. With a bullet to the forehead. Up close and personal with a small-caliber pistol, like your Walther.” He shot her a sudden, hard look. “I…hunt, okay? I know guns—“ “You hunt with a small-caliber pistol, Annie?” No way was she letting on she was a cop. It might shift his behavior, make him aggressive, give him something to prove. “Look, I know a hunting accident when I see one—and that wasn’t one. I can also tell that his hands were bound. Before he died.” Joshua took another swallow of brandy, an ice-cold wariness creeping back into his eyes. Careful, Annie. He knows you are hiding something. Then it hit her—the diary. Maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s why the room had been tossed. Her grandfather had said the world would want to read it. Perhaps there was something in it, a secret. One that someone—like Joshua Kane—might kill for. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to find it and thought she might know where it was hidden, which is why he hadn’t hurt her. Yet. Annie had to force herself not to glance at the bookshelves. The Old Man had said the diary was in a safe behind the library walls. Wind clawed in a sudden gust at the shutters, moaned up in the beams. Outside, snow began to billow in waves under the porch light. “You should get some sleep, Annie.” Like hell. “You can take the first room. Lock the door.” His eyes held hers. I’d give you your knife back, Lavalle, except I’m worried you’ll use it. On me.”
Chapter Six Annie curled into the down feather bed as the wind ticked pellets of ice against the window and moaned in the trees. She clutched the fire poker from the wood-burning stove in her room. She wasn’t taking any chances, in spite of her unsettling physical attraction to him and the hint of compassion she’d glimpsed in his eyes. Annie knew the madness that could lurk behind the deceptive smile of a psychopath. It happened with the Bush Man in Black Arrow Falls. As a kid she’d always thought you’d be able to see it—evil—the darkness somehow lurking in the eyes. But she’d learned that wasn’t true. Was Joshua playing some similar game? As seductive as he was dangerous?
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Annie didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t control her startling physical attraction to him. She needed to be in control. She’d prefer it if he really was after the diary. It would be easier to deal with a man with a clear mercenary goal than it would be to deal with a sick predator playing a psychological game she couldn’t yet fathom. She resolved to look for the wall safe tomorrow, see if she could find her grandfather’s journal—without alerting Joshua Kane to the fact she was even looking. If that was his real name. *** Joshua paced his room by the quavering light of a candle, watching waves of white billow against his window, wondering again if the Fox might still be lurking out there. He doubted it. The old Stasi death-squad assassin had taken out his target and left his calling card on the body—a small gold fox. There was no reason for the notorious Cold War killer to lurk around further. Joshua figured the lodge caretaker had been collateral damage. He must have surprised the Fox and gotten his throat slit for the trouble. Joshua closed the shutters. Once this weather passed, the world would be a snowy white slate. They could get a chopper in, maybe find the assassin’s tracks from the air. But first he had to figure out Annie. Her story was compelling, but even so, she was no ordinary civilian, of that he was certain. And she was definitely hiding something from him. He needed to know what. Joshua opened his bedroom door, listened down the corridor. No sound came from Annie’s room. He wasn’t worried about her trying to escape in this blizzard. She knew there was nothing but miles and miles of hostile wilderness out there. He judged her to have a keen survival instinct; she’d stay put until morning. He hit a series of buttons on his sat phone and waited for his handler to pick up. The CIA should’ve run the check he’d asked for on Annie Lavalle by now. *** Annie heard a voice. Was it Joshua? Talking to someone else in the lodge? She sat up in bed straining to detect sounds over the moan of the wind and the swish of snow blowing against her window. Then she heard it again. A low bass mumble, possibly coming through the heating vent from a room down the corridor. Definitely a voice. Someone else was in the lodge? She peeled back her cover, padding in socks to the door. She unlocked her door, inched it open and crept down the cold hall, pausing as wood planks creaked gently under her weight. Another gust rattled the beams. She shivered in the icy draft, heart hammering as she came closer to Joshua’s door. A wedge of yellow light glimmered from underneath. She placed her hands on the wood, bringing her ear close. He was definitely talking to someone. Annie crouched down, peered through the crack along the hinge. He had a phone! Christ, he had communication and he hadn’t called in the murders? Her pulse quickened.
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She tried to get a better angle, peering intently through the crack. Her eyes began to water, suspicion building in her. He’d lied. Blatantly. They weren’t trapped, but he wanted her to think so. He was holding her prisoner. Why? She had to get her hands on that phone, call for help. He hung up suddenly, stilled, glanced sharply toward the door. God, he’d heard her! He started toward his door. For a nanosecond Annie froze. Then a gust hit the lodge and the whole building creaked and groaned. Under cover of the sound, she dashed against the wall as his door swung open into the corridor. “Annie!” She ducked back behind the deep doorjamb, damp with perspiration. And waited.
Chapter Seven Must have been the wind—the passage was empty. Joshua closed his door, mulling over what his handler had just told him. Sexy little Annie Lavalle was legit. And she was a cop, a rookie Canadian Mountie. She was also, indirectly, the reason the CIA had been tipped off as to where Jurgen Kraupfmann had been hiding all these years under the assumed identity of Jack Marais. Kraupfmann had been an infamous death-squad leader for the East German Secret Police, or Stasi. He’d operated outside of East Germany, and had personally ordered the assassinations of key political dissidents in both East and West Germany and around the world, including the United States. Hans Faulks, alias the Fox, had been Kraupfmann’s tool, an agent of death he had personally trained. The Fox had carried out a series of assassinations for Kraupfmann from 1976 to 1987; his debut kill believed to have been executed at age nineteen. That put him around the age of 33 now. Ironic, thought Joshua, that the protégé had now killed his master. According to Joshua’s handler, Kraupfmann had recently hired someone to search for his living relatives, and the private investigator’s poking around into the adoption records of Kraupfmann’s deceased daughter in Poland had alerted the old Stasi guard. Coded e-mails had been sent out to members, warning them that Kraupfmann was on the move. They must have been worried about their own identities being exposed, which is where the Fox had likely been brought in. The CIA, however, had been monitoring the e-mail channels, and had picked up the flurry of conversation, tracing Kraupfmann back to Alaska themselves. That’s when Joshua had been contracted by the CIA to bring Kraupfmann in, quietly and quickly without alerting any local authorities. Capturing Kraupfmann would’ve been a major coup because he’d been in a position to disclose names of the key death-squad members who’d fled Berlin after the Wall came down. Those members were apparently regrouping into what the CIA called the neo-Stasis. And according to early intel, they were forming a worrisome alliance with a large underground Russian group. It was beginning to look like the stirrings of a new Cold War, a new front for terror. Getting Kraupfmann would’ve dealt a major blow to that global threat.
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But Joshua had arrived at Kraupfmann’s lodge a day too late. The Fox had already been there, and Kraupfmann lay dead. And now that Joshua had informed the CIA that Annie had crashed their party, his new orders were to find out why Kraupfmann had summoned her, and what communication might have transpired between them. Up until Joshua’s phone call, the CIA had been unaware that Kraupfmann had actually contacted Annie. Joshua’s secondary mission was to capture the Fox, if he could. So he was a goddamn babysitter. He swore to himself, dragging his hand over his hair. Responsibility suddenly heavy. He didn’t want it, and it made him angry. Cold. Until now, there had been a possibility that Annie might be involved—one of the bad guys. But now Joshua was going to have to make sure she didn’t get hurt. And this was pressing him right into the kind of corner he’d fought bitterly to avoid for the past five years. If he allowed something to happen to a woman under his care again, it would kill him. And having a Canadian Mountie messed up in this op would cause an international incident. His mission was to keep things under the radar. Joshua had also learned from his handler who Kraupfmann’s daughter—Annie Lavalle’s mother—was. The CIA had followed the leads that Kraupfmann’s private investigator had opened up in Poland. Joshua cursed again. He now had the one thing she wanted: the truth—the name of her mother. And he was under orders not to give her any information she didn’t already have. *** Dawn glowed wan through frosted glass, and it was still snowing heavily, drifts piling against lower windows. Annie heard the shower go on and the water rumbling in the lodge pipes. She sneaked open her door, heart racing. She listened at his bathroom door. Confident Joshua was in there, she began to rummage through his gear, looking for his sat phone. She heard the water go off. Quick! He’d be out any minute. She found her knife, tucked it back into her belt sheath. Then she saw it—the phone! She grabbed it, spun round, and he was standing there—almost naked, a small white towel around his hips, his body like chiseled granite, blocking her exit. Damp hair fell in a lick over his brow and something in her melted even as fear rooted her to the ground. “Looking for something, Lavalle?” His gaze was cold, unblinking. She cleared her throat, mentally calculating how long it would take to grab her knife before he was on her. He held out his hand, his body steaming in the cold air of the room. Gorgeous. More powerful in his nakedness than in clothes. Not many men could carry that off. “Give me that phone.”
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She stepped back, trapped, clutching the phone like the lifeline it was.
Chapter Eight “You had a phone but you didn’t call the troopers after two murders,” she accused. “Annie, give me that phone—“ She whipped her knife from its sheath, adjusting her stance, planting her feet farther apart and centering her gravity, preparing for impact as she waved it slowly in front of her body. “Back off, or I will hurt you.” He smiled, slow and languid, but his eyes remained unblinking on hers. “I wouldn’t try that, Annie….“ He took another step closer. Joshua saw her eyes dip over his nearly naked body, saw the dark flicker of undeniable interest in her flashing gold eyes, even as she squared off to hurt him. It sent a sharp stab of pleasure into his groin. Challenge rose hot in his chest. But she had a knife, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. Joshua wasn’t going to underestimate her this time. Constable Annie Lavalle was a capable adversary—she’d nearly caught him off guard once already. It wasn’t going to happen again. He took a step closer, trying to intimidate her, back her into a corner. She swallowed, her eyes flicking hot and fast over his body again. It aroused him. Damn, he was male, he couldn’t help it. The blade glinted menacingly. “Why’d you lie? What do you want from me?” Oh, you don’t want to know what I want right now. He raised both hands, letting go of the towel—a dangerous move, but necessary to show he meant no harm. Damned, though, if his lower body wasn’t going to show her a threat of a completely different kind if his towel slipped. He didn’t want to do that to her. It was embarrassing, never mind threatening. And so damned wrong. If he had his pants on, it wouldn’t be a problem. He cursed softly. “Put that knife down, Annie.” She swiped at him as he moved closer. He jerked back, whistled. “You don’t need to do this— “ “Why not? I think you killed my grandfather. And the caretaker. And where is the hunting guide, eh? You kill him, too? Maybe I should take another look in that meat locker, non?” Her eyes were fierce, but the glow of perspiration on her lip, the racing pulse at her neck, gave her fear away. She moistened her lips—dryness. Another sign of fear. She figured she was trapped and that he was one bad-ass dude, but she was not going to go down without a fight. He had to admire that.
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He’d do the same. Then he saw that she was fingering the phone with her other hand, trying to figure out how to use it while holding him off with the knife. He couldn’t let that happen. Joshua lunged. She sliced at him, sharp across his abdomen, breaking a clean line of skin. He swore, his towel dropping as he sidestepped. Blood oozed warm down his naked belly. Annie blinked at his aroused nakedness. He used the moment of distraction to grab her wrist, squeezing hard as he twisted her hand up and behind her back, spinning her around. He hooked an arm around her neck, trapping her from behind. The knife clattered to the floor. She was breathing hard. Afraid. He had his groin pressed into her behind, and she felt damn good in his arms. Angry and embarrassed by his own sexual flare, Joshua tamped down his erection the one way he knew he could. He thought of his fiancée, of how she’d been tortured, brutally killed. Because of him, his job, because of how he’d been unable to protect her. And his attraction to Annie was corked, just like that. Instantly. Joshua never wanted to fall for a woman again, not in a substantive way. He was strictly a bed-‘em-and-leave-‘em sort now. And he never, ever wanted to put one in harm’s way. Christ, he didn’t even want to have to protect a woman, because he’d learned in the hardest way possible that he was capable of failure. And now Annie Lavalle had put him in a different kind of hard spot. She knew he had a phone, and now he had to give her a solid reason for why he hadn’t called the police. If he wanted her cooperation, he had to bring her fully into the operation. He made an executive decision—he was going to give her the truth. And she wasn’t going to like it. Neither were his employers. “Annie,” he said quietly against her ear, “I know you’re a cop.” She stilled, her body willowsupple against his naked frame. Strong and feminine. “And I know,” he whispered, “who your mother is.”
Chapter Nine “You’re a Mountie, Annie. His voice was warm, soft against her ear, chasing an involuntary tingle down her spine. “A constable from Black Arrow Falls Detachment in the Yukon.” She swallowed. “You come from northern Quebec, have four older brothers, none of whom are blood relatives. You were adopted from a Polish orphanage, brought to Canada where your adoptive father, a
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pilot, was killed in his plane when you were only eighteen months old. Your adoptive mother, Marie, eventually remarried widower Hank Lavalle, a farmer from Quebec who already had four older sons from his first marriage. Which, Annie, is how you became a Lavalle, the youngest child and only female in a family of big boys. No one in your family was related to you by blood—not Marie, who succumbed to breast cancer when you were fourteen, not Hank or his boys. Which makes me think you’ve always felt the outsider, the small girl with something to prove. And you know what else I think?” A sharp wave of emotion burned her eyes. “What?” she whispered, truly afraid now. “I think your search for your real mother has defined your life. And it’s the reason you are here right now, in the middle of my operation.” “What…operation?” She could feel his heartbeat against her body. She could feel his warmth, the heat from his groin. But the erection she’d seen earlier that had almost made her drop the knife was gone. He’d controlled it. He turned her around slowly and took her by the shoulders. Her heart somersaulted at the gentleness in his eyes. “A CIA operation,” he said. “A deep black one.” She blinked. “Which, Annie, is why I couldn’t tell you about my phone. I needed to be sure you weren’t working for them.” “For who?” “Your grandfather’s people.” She stared at him for a long while. He moved a lock of hair from her face. Tenderness ran like a current through her. She was tired. Hadn’t slept for days before coming here, and not a wink last night. She’d gone to bed on a glass of brandy, and she was drained. She suddenly wanted to cry, to just allow a stranger of all things to hold her. To comfort. A freaking naked stranger. What was wrong with her? He gently pried the phone loose from her fist and shut it off. “You’re CIA?” she said, feeling defeated. “Freelancer. I contract to them.” “A mercenary, then?” “In a word.” She nodded. She’d guessed from the instant she’d laid eyes on him that he was a man who lived in those kinds of shadows. “How…how do you know so much about me?”
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“The CIA accessed your RCMP file, which was detailed.” “Why did they do that?” “Because I asked them to check you out. It appears you are the reason the CIA found your grandfather—Jurgen Kraupfmann—in the first place. His private investigator in Poland started some ripples.” Confusion raced through her. “My grandfather’s name is not Jurgen…it’s Jack Marais.” “No. It’s not. Jack Marais is an alias.” “Why…should I believe you?” “You will. We have a lot to discuss.” He angled his head, that mischievous playfulness suddenly sneaking into his eyes again. “If you’d allow me to dress first?” She almost managed not to dip her gaze down over his incredibly honed, ripped, tanned, rugged body. Almost. Hot sensation ballooned through her chest as she saw the sensuous dark whorl of hair that ran from his navel and flared into the space between his very strong thighs. He was incredibly well hung. Gorgeous thighs. She was definitely a thigh girl. “Unless…you have other things in mind?” he said quietly. She flushed sharp and fast. “I…no!” He grinned, a slash of piratical white against his darker skin, and his eyes danced. She gathered herself quickly, unsure of…anything. “Seems you lost interest pretty quickly anyway.” “Didn’t think you noticed.” He reached for his towel, muscles moving under solid Mediterranean skin. “How could I not?” He laughed, a great warm sound from deep in his chest. “You’re still bleeding, Joshua. You should let me tend—” “I think, Annie, that having you touch me might be…dangerous.” She flushed deeper. Something raw showed in his eyes—a glimpse of an emotion Annie had not yet seen in him. Something so human and caring, so light and complex, but it was fleeting, quickly gone. Just as quickly his mouth flattened as if subjugated by a defiant act of sheer will, stuffing the lightness inside him back down somewhere dark.
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This man was fighting something inside himself. And she couldn’t help being intrigued.
Chapter Ten The storm still rattled at the shutters, minute crystals swirling to blanket, smother, deaden the world outside. Annie was sitting by the fire, unable to shake the chill from her bones as Joshua explained his mission to her. “So you’re saying my grandfather, Jurgen Kraupfmann, was a leader of one of those notorious Stasi death squads?” “Yes. He operated from outside of East Germany, mostly from Poland. When the Berlin Wall came down and Germany was reunified, he fled with the others. He’s been hiding in the Alaska Bush region, running this lodge under the name of Jack Marais, for the past seventeen years.” In the fireplace, the flames quivered as a sharp gust came down the stone flue. Annie rubbed her arms. “He killed people?” “He ordered their deaths.” Annie made a decision. Joshua had trusted her with this undoubtedly classified information. She could trust him. “He had a diary, Joshua.” Joshua stilled. “What?” “My grandfather told me he’d kept a journal for the last thirty years.” “If he did, Annie, if he named his collaborators, that would be explosive. It would be everything we need to take the neo-Stasi cell down. Man by man.” Urgency hummed about him. “Did he say where he kept it?” Annie lurched to her feet, paced agitatedly. “He told me about that diary for a reason, Joshua. He wanted it read. He wanted to come clean at the end of his days.” She whirled to face him. “He said he wanted to make peace with me, with his God.” Joshua remained silent, watching her. She scrubbed her face hard. She was defending a Nazi, a murderer—why? Because he was the father of her own mother? What did that make her? She was cop, a Mountie. A woman with a fierce moral compass and drive for justice. “Look, If my grandfather wanted to have his memoirs read, surely it follows that he wanted to expose the old Stasis? Perhaps he was against the resurrection of the organization and this alliance with the Russian underground movement?” “Perhaps,” Joshua said gently. “It could be the reason he was killed.”
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“Do you think they know about the diary, then?” “I don’t know how they could. Unless Kraupfmann told them himself. And I doubt that.” “Then why would they have sent someone to assassinate him if they didn’t know about the journal?” “Because they got wind he was stirring, and he knew too much.” “My grandfather’s hands were bound before he was shot, Joshua. You can tell by the bruising. Maybe information about the diary was coerced out of him before he was killed. Maybe the Fox assassinated him and then came back here to the lodge, looking for the diary. Which is when he surprised the caretaker and ransacked the lodge. Maybe the Fox is still out there. Waiting.” Joshua studied her in silence. “If that’s the case, Annie—” a gravity lay heavy in his voice “— he might return once the snow settles. Either way, after this storm, he’ll leave tracks. I’ll find him. But first I need to get you out of here.” His eyes narrowed. “Annie,” he said very quietly, “I think you know where that diary is.” She looked away. “You need to tell me.” *** They located the safe behind one of the bookshelves in the library. Joshua expertly cracked the lock, removing an old book bound in oxblood leather. He opened it to the last entry. “It’s dated a week ago,” he whispered. He flipped quickly through the book and glanced up. “This is big, Annie, you have no idea. It goes right back into the Stasi operations. It looks like it details names, dates, everything. We need to hand this over ASAP.” “Can…I read it?” Joshua hesitated. “Look, I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But it’s mine. He wanted me to have it. There could be something in there about my…my mother.” Tears burned into Annie’s eyes, and she glanced away sharply so he wouldn’t see. “I need to read it, Joshua.” He hooked a knuckle under her chin, turned her face back to his and pressed the old book into her hands. Silence stretched, just the wind outside audible. Then he leaned forward, his scent warm, masculine, and he feathered his strong lips ever so softly over hers. “It’s okay,” he whispered, wiping away a tear. “Even tough cops cry.” She sniffed, clutching the book tight. “Even mercenaries?” Something dark flitted over his feathers. “Yes, Annie. Even mercenaries.”
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He walked away quickly, and she felt a sudden sense of loss. But she could see a raw tension in his back, in his movements. His neck. And she knew—she just knew—that he was running from something that had happened to him. “Did you lose someone once, Joshua?” He stared out the windows. The wind rattled again. He remained silent for a long, long time. “It’s in the past,” he said eventually, quietly. It was a woman—Annie’s gut told her he’d lost a girlfriend, maybe a wife. A warm empathy unfurled in her, and she was compelled to go up, touch him, comfort him. But he turned suddenly, that ice-cool look back in his eyes, that harsh set back in his jaw. “Read the diary. We can talk more later.”
Chapter Eleven Annie wasn’t sure how many hours she’d been reading. Time felt endless with the blizzard raging outside. Joshua had brought her tea, but it was the firm, reassuring hand he’d placed on her shoulder that had made her feel less alone. She swiped angrily at a renegade tear. She wasn’t one for crying. Four big brothers had killed that impulse at a fairly young age. But reading the diary was stirring her down deep and visceral. Her grandfather’s entries included recent information gleaned by his private investigator in Poland. Jurgen Kraupfmann had apparently been seeking a living relative, one to whom he could bequeath his lodge—and diary. A path that had led him to Annie. As Annie read, she learned that her mother’s name was Joanna. She’d been single, unemployed and barely seventeen when she’d conceived Annie. Joanna’s own mother had never married. She’d been a mistress of Jurgen Kraupfmann’s. And, as Kraupfmann wrote in his strong cursive hand, his mistress never had any idea of his dual identity, or the fact he worked for the East Germans. Neither did Joanna. But the journal didn’t just talk about his family. Going further back in the book, she read that her grandfather had ordered the deaths of seventeen prominent political dissidents outside of Europe. Two on U.S. soil, which is likely what had really piqued intelligence interest in the U.S. All were carried out by one killer—an assassin named Hans Faulks, a.k.a. the Fox—a man her grandfather had trained, and who’d done his debut killing as a mere teenager. Annie looked up at the windows, wondering about the Fox, how he came to be what he was. A seed grew where it fell. How much choice did a child really have in what ultimately shaped his destiny? Conflicting emotions warred through her. She touched the words on the page, her grandfather’s firm strokes written in fountain pen, which Annie found quaint. She tried to imagine the movement of his hand, tried to align him in her mind—the owner of this lodge and a noxious death-squad leader, now dead in the freezer. She came to the final pages and what she read blurred her vision with tears of hot emotion that spilled down her cheeks. Both her mother and grandmother had only recently been killed
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in a car accident during a holiday to France. Leaving Annie as Kraupfmann’s only remaining blood relative. From the kitchen, Joshua, who’d been watching her like a hawk as he chopped vegetables and stirred a steaming pot, came to her side. He sat beside her on the stone hearth in front of the fire. “What is it, Annie?” She swiped a mess of emotion from her face and looked up into his eyes. Joshua’s heart clenched so hard and fast that he almost took her in his arms. But he refrained from touching her, from being an idiot again. “Talk to me,” he said softly. “My mother died only last year,” she whispered to him. “I could have known her, Joshua. I…I could have met her.” He didn’t know what to say. Platitudes weren’t his thing. Once more he tamped down an urge to physically comfort Annie. “She made good, Joshua. She married, opened a small flower shop…and…” The tears came again, big racking ones. This time he did take her in his arms, and she leaned in close, her slight frame sobbing against his body. He stroked her silky dark hair and just held her, feeling her breasts against his chest, drinking in her scent, the sensation of her skin against his. And he felt his heart cracking wide open—a raw, horrible, rushing emotion that made him feel naked and afraid. And that’s when Joshua knew he was sunk. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to bottle it all up again. And that made him angry. He stood up quickly, swearing to himself, and stalked back to the kitchen. Annie sat forward, hurt flaring in her eyes. Confusion in her features. Looking lost. Looking vulnerable…like the only woman he’d ever wanted in his life. And every molecule in his body screamed to go to her. And he couldn’t. He could not make himself cross that line. He turned his attention to the food, stirring viciously. He’d never wanted to come to this juncture again. God-freaking-dammit! He slammed the wooden spoon into the sink, braced his hands on the counter. Annie got up, shot him a sharp, hurtful glance and marched toward the front door. She yanked it open and stepped out into the cold, under the cover of the porch. She allowed the door to slam shut behind her. Joshua fought with himself, holding himself back from rushing after her. *** Hidden by snow-covered forest, Hans Faulks watched as the woman came outside—the woman the Old Man had said would be his grandchild. She was holding a book. The book.
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He snuggled down into the snowdrift, resting his cheek against his cold rifle stock. He breathed in slowly, and on his exhalation, began to squeeze the trigger….
Chapter Twelve “Annie?” She stiffened under Joshua’s touch, not wanting to look at him. “It’s cold out,” he said gently. “Come inside. Please.” She allowed him to put his arm around her, take her back into the enveloping warmth of the lodge. Joshua glanced back into the trees, sensing something. He shut the door, locked it. *** The sniper released his tension on the trigger, heart beating softly in the cold. He’d come to kill the Old Man. There were no roads in or out of the remote area, excluding travel by an all-terrain vehicle. Air was the only way in. So he’d been dropped off on a lake to the north via private floatplane, and hiked in quietly on foot. In winter, one could travel through the woods and along the river via snowmobile—but it wasn’t supposed to be winter yet. He wiped snow from his eyes. He had not anticipated this snow. The Stasi had learned that a private investigator had been asking questions about Kraupfmann’s mistress and daughter, digging into their records, and in turn, they’d discovered Kraupfmann was living in Alaska. Stirring. After decades of silence. They’d sent the Fox to keep that silence. After taking care of the P.I., Hans had come directly here. And he’d quickly carried out his contract. But there remained a problem. Before he’d shot the Old Man he’d made him talk, and Hans had learned of a granddaughter—and a diary. A diary that could expose him and the entire old guard. Faulks had gone straight to the lodge to look for it. He’d already eliminated Kraupfmann’s hunting guide before hauling Kraupfmann himself into the woods to torture and kill him. Collateral damage, unfortunately. But as he’d started to search the lodge for the diary, the caretaker had surprised him. More collateral damage. On top of that, just after Hans had slit the caretaker’s throat, a third man appeared, bringing Kraupfmann’s body back to the lodge on a makeshift sled of branches.
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Faulks had cut communication lines to the lodge, and waited to shoot the man. But the newcomer’s reactions to the sight of the caretaker’s corpse were interesting, not that of an ordinary civilian. He had calmly ascertained that the caretaker was dead, then coldly examined the room, as if trying to figure out what Faulks had been searching for. That’s when Faulks decided to wait before killing him, to see if he’d lead him to the book. The man had then put Kraupfmann in the freezer. While he was still in there, Faulks heard a plane landing on the lake. The man had come back for the caretaker’s corpse—presumably to cart him into the freezer, too—when the woman arrived, possibly the granddaughter the Old Man had mentioned. Faulks decided at that point to watch them both. Her reactions were not those of a normal civilian, either. They might be working for someone. It would be helpful to know who. And watching them might lead him to the book. And it had. He’d seen it in the woman’s hand. The lodge door closed behind them. He shifted in the snow. He had time. And patience. It was his art. The art of a predator. And he always made his kill. *** Joshua was strung like a wire, furious with himself for having touched Annie at all, for allowing compassion in himself. For wanting more. There was something about Annie—about this particular woman at this juncture of his life—that had breached his armor, cracked through the dispassion, the heartlessness that had kept him safe, functional, since Kara had died. Now the big bad merc was afraid of a pretty little dark-haired Mountie with gold eyes, freckles and a gap between her teeth. Hell yeah, he was afraid. She could do him more damage than any bullet or knife out there. Because suddenly she’d given him something to live for again. Crap. He set a bottle of red wine on the counter, outwardly calm, but even more angry for now having put hurt into her eyes. He aggressively uncorked the red vintage he’d taken from the lodge cellar. “What are you thinking?” she said as he poured. She’d been watching him, and Joshua had a weird sensation that maybe she could read his mind. He forced a smile. “Nothing, apart from how this ’84 cabernet should go very well with the venison stew.” She cast her eyes down, and he knew he’d turned her thoughts to the meat locker. “Hey, don’t worry. Once this storm clears we’ll get you out of here.”
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“And you?” “Here, try this.” He handed her a glass and a plate. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said after tasting. “You really can cook.” “Said I was the chef, didn’t I?” He winked. She stilled. The moment grew heavy, mutual attraction raw and simmering between them. She swallowed slowly as a slight flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. It heated him in the groin. He had to change the subject fast. He cleared his throat. “So, why’d you become a cop, Annie?” She laughed huskily. “I had four big brothers and something to prove.” He studied her for a beat. “Seriously. Why?”
Chapter Thirteen “I was a hostage in a bank robbery in Montreal when I was fifteen,” she said, lifting her glass, sipping. “It went wrong, lasted days. People died. I had to watch them being shot. One by one.” She paused. “I was so terrorized that when I came out, alive, I promised myself I would never, ever feel fear, feel trapped like that again in my life. I would take control.” Annie set her glass down, twisted it, watching the liquid swirl. “Guess I thought getting a badge and a gun would help me do that.” “Did it?” She smiled wryly. “I discovered I actually thrive on a degree of fear, the adrenaline that comes with it. Just not being trapped in small spaces.” Her features tightened. “I still have serious claustrophobia issues. That hasn’t gone away.” “That adrenaline you mention, it can be addictive.” “Is that how it is with you?” “Yeah, I’d say.” She paused, watching him intently. “Do you ever get scared, Joshua?” “Me?” He laughed and got up, putting the plates in the sink. “That’s how you deal with it, isn’t it? You become flippant, you treat the situation as amusing, irrelevant.” He stilled. This woman had a way of seeing right into him, unraveling him. And his growing feelings for her were beginning to spook the crap out of him. Funny, he didn’t feel like laughing about that right now. He felt like running. And there was no place to go.
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“Do you have family, Joshua?” “Men like me don’t get to have family, Annie.” “You mean men who live and work in the shadows of society? Who do the dark work so the rest of us sleep safe?” He snorted. “Pretty much.” She leaned forward, a burgundy tint from the wine on her lips. And all he wanted was to taste her mouth. “What about relationships, Joshua?” she said quietly. “You have those?” He couldn’t think straight, heat thrumming low in his gut. “Superficial.” “But there was one special person, wasn’t there?” she whispered. His vision narrowed. “I’m right, aren’t I, Joshua? She’s the one you lost.” “Her name was Kara Smith,” he said finally, quietly. “She was a Red Cross nurse working in an Afghan refugee camp on the outskirts of Kabul. She was good and innocent and beautiful, and…and I should never have loved her—” “But you did.” He walked over to the fire and sat on the stone hearth. Distance—he needed it. Damn, he wanted a cigarette, too. Times like this, he needed to smoke. He hadn’t had a drag in a long while. She was doing this to him. Annie stood and went to him, sitting close. Too close. He could feel her warmth, and he wanted to hold a human being, a woman—her—close. He wanted her bad. She touched the side of his face and shock rocketed through him. “Was she killed?” He nodded. “Because of me. Because of who I am, and what I do. I was working as a bodyguard for a top UN politician, and because I was focused on protecting my asset, I lost the one thing I cared about in life.” Hot emotion crackled into his eyes. “They took her, Annie. They tortured her. To get at me. And she died before I could rescue her.” To Annie’s credit she didn’t say a word. Not one. She just leaned her body against him, handed him his glass. Maybe it was because she was a cop, or because she had four big alpha-dog brothers and no mother and she understood men. Whatever, it made him comfortable. Damned if it didn’t make him want her even more. He could live with a woman like this. Jeez, he’d promised himself never to allow this thoughts to go there. He’d meant what he’d said about family and relationships—he had no right to have them. Hell, he’d lived in so many countries under so many aliases, sometimes he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He swigged his wine, ferocity burning with the lust in him now, a hunger ravenous for a connection in this world. In his world of shadows, he craved something real. Like Annie. She lifted her face to him, the invitation, the need in her own eyes… There was no way he could turn his back now, no matter how hard he was trying.
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“We’re two of a kind, you and I, Annie,” he whispered hoarsely, lowering his mouth to hers. “How…so?” she murmured, her breath like a warm feather on his lips. “I think—” he slid his hand down her waist, feeling the soft flannel of her shirt “—that you like to walk the edge as much as I do.”
Chapter Fourteen “You know what I think?” she murmured, warm against his mouth. “I think you dare the world to kill you, Joshua Kane.” Molten heat exploded low in his belly, rushed out to his extremities like wildfire, making his pulse race, his consciousness narrow. “Maybe you do it—” she unbuttoned his shirt, slid her hands onto his chest “—because you think you need to pay for what happened.” He yanked her body hard against his, felt her breasts press against his chest, felt hard nipples under her shirt. It excited him. All he wanted to do right now was live. To the fullest. Not die. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted her. It spiked the pressure between his legs. He’d never wanted anyone so much. He hadn’t had a woman in this way for years, not with real kindred affection burning into the heat of his lust. It was heady, delirious. At the same time he knew there could be no turning back. He shouldn’t do this. He was making a mistake. He felt her hand move down his abs, to his belt. She removed his Walther, setting it on the hearth. He trusted her with it. She was a cop. He liked that. He liked too many things… “Make love to me, Joshua,” she whispered against his mouth, her tongue seeking his. His vision blurred. He fumbled with her buttons, unclasped her bra, secretly thrilled to find his feisty cop wearing lace. A small moan of pleasure escaped her as he cupped her breast, hard. He moved faster, unable to restrain a moment longer, and she met him with equal fervor—just as hungry, just as fierce. She fumbled for his zipper, tongue tangling with his as he hooked her leg over his thigh. No thought now. No logic. Only sensation. He peeled her shirt back from her shoulders, lowering her to the bearskin rug on the floor in front of the raw flames. She lifted her hips, and he yanked her jeans down. Annie wriggled out of them and kissed him deeper, relishing the sensation of muscle, of rough chest hair against the swollen, tender skin of her breasts. He parted her legs and she felt his mouth, his tongue slick between her thighs, and pressure built like a bomb in her chest. She drew his head back up to her mouth, not wanting to come
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yet, but he forced her thighs wider with his knees until she was almost shaking with need for him. “Wait,” he said hoarsely. He went to the lodge medical cabinet, found a condom. And then he entered her, the smooth tip of his erection hot. He gripped her hips and she arched into him, wild. With one hard thrust he was in to the hilt. Annie gasped. She drew him closer, deeper inside her, moving her hips under him, heightening the sensation of his pelvis pressed to hers. He moved faster, hotter. Angrier, hungrier—two bodies digging deep for something they were unable to define. She dug her nails into his back, suddenly still. He stopped moving, looked into her eyes. She jerked, releasing with a sharp cry. He came almost simultaneously, unable to hold back with the exquisite sensation of her muscles undulating around him. Joshua took her into his arms—held her, touched her, stroked her skin, her hair, felt her warmth as the storm rattled at the doors. They made love again, slow and languorous this time, naked and primal on a rug shot by some hunter. And they sank again into the fur, sated, glowing with perspiration. But soon Joshua felt the cold creep in. What had he done? Remorse and guilt began to build inside him. He sat up sharply. “Joshua?” Concern softened Annie’s eyes, dark silky hair falling over naked shoulders—so beautiful. So athletic, strong. Yet so fragile. “What is it?” she asked. He got up, punched his arms into his shirtsleeves, pulled on his jeans, stoked the fire. He had to step back. He had to get Annie the hell out of his life before he mucked up hers. Their jobs were not compatible. Their countries… Christ! No way could he have her, not like he wanted her—long-term. When had Joshua Kane ever thought of the future? Not once in five years. Why in hell was his brain even heading down this road? “You should get some sleep,” he snapped. “This storm should be blown through by morning.” She reached for her clothes. “And then?” “Then I get a plane in, have them fly you home.” “Home.” He glanced at her—the way she said it. And he understood. She’d been searching for home, a real sense of belonging, all her life. The closest she’d come to her heritage was this isolated lodge and a dead grandfather in a meat locker with a bullet in his skull. And Joshua’s heart crumpled in on itself. As much as he had to send her away, he didn’t want to. He wanted to help her. Be there for her.
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And he couldn’t. He couldn’t even be there for his goddamn self. Let alone offer her a home. “Go get some sleep, Annie.”
Chapter Fifteen Annie lay—alone—in her feather bed. As the storm abated, she felt an incredible silence descend on the night, along with an insidious chill that crawled deep into her bones. Her eyes were wet with emotion. Joshua had bored a hole in her soul. He’d made her hungry for more—to hold, to be held. But after he’d had sex with her he’d shut down. Like the flick of a goddamn switch. He’d gone to his own room. She swore softly. Men. Especially a man like him—a mercenary who’d forgotten who he was, who’d even told her his relationships were all superficial. She was such a damn fool to think she’d glimpsed more to him. Such an ass to have even cared. What in hell had she been thinking, anyway? Nothing, that’s what. Stress, fatigue, fear…throw in some wine and a man with a body to die for… That’s all it was. And, yeah, the sex was freaking good. It was about time she’d had something that hot-damn good. Get over it, Annie. She punched her pillow, curled into a ball. She’d gotten what she came for—her mother’s name. She was so outta here tomorrow. *** Annie was crunching through knee-deep snow before the sun had even shone over the distant mountains. Her breath misted in puffs, and the sky was a pearly slate with no clouds. One fading star still lingered on the horizon. A bitterly cold wind scoured over the lake. Hoarfrost had started to grow on top of the snow crystals, and they shimmered like diamonds as she moved toward the dock. She wanted to see where a plane might land. She had her doubts Joshua would be able to get one in under these conditions. The water itself wasn’t an option; a thin layer of ice had formed. And the trees, willow and berry scrub tangled right up to the shore. It clearly wasn’t a place that invited anyone in winter. And winter had apparently come early. She just wanted to get away from here. Go back to Black Arrow Falls—which would probably be twice as cold and even deeper into winter as it was farther north—but she had friends there like Sergeant Caruso, Silver, Constable Donovan, Rosie in the office… They were the only family she really felt were hers now. She tucked her hands deep into her down jacket. But as she was about to turn and trudge back up to the lodge, an odd color beneath the ice snared her attention. Annie bent forward and blinked in horror.
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Trapped beneath a sheet of wind-sheared ice was a human face. Frozen eyes stared up from the glassy tomb. Her pulse quickened. She glanced up, her gaze sweeping the surrounding bush, suddenly afraid. She could see and hear nothing. Just the whoosh of Arctic wind on frozen land. Yet she didn’t feel alone. Something moved suddenly in the trees, and she almost screamed as a snowshoe hare bounded out, still brown on his feet. Heart thudding, Annie was instantly cognizant of her knife strapped under her jacket. She threw another look at the woods, then crouched down to take a better look at the body. It was a man. His throat had been slit—a bloodless gaping maw. Probably bled out into the water before he froze. He wore camouflage gear. The missing hunting guide. Annie heard a crunch behind her. She swung up with her knife, tense as wire. “Joshua!” she gasped when she saw who it was. “Christ, why’d you sneak up like that?” “Why didn’t you tell me you were going outside?” he snapped. He was livid, stomping down to the dock through the snow, rifle in hand. Because you rejected me, because I still want you and need to get the hell away from here. From you. “I think you should see this,” she said quietly. “This confirms it,” he whispered, staring at the entombed body. “The Fox must have killed the guide when he went after Kraupfmann. But we’ve got something even more serious—” He took her arm brusquely, his gaze strafing forest and bush. “There are fresh prints in the snow on the other side of the lodge. He’s still here, Annie. He’s not done.” “The diary?” “That would be my guess. And if he figures we know what’s in it, it makes us both targets. He’s still hunting. And this time it’s us.” Joshua marched Annie back to the lodge, all too aware that he’d just been forced headlong into his worst possible nightmare—a woman he was coming to care for deeply, in spite of his best effort, was now in danger. And he had to protect her.
Chapter Sixteen From the fresh tracks in the new snow, Joshua was now convinced that one of the most notorious assassins to come out of the Cold War era was circling the lodge. Hunting them. He handed Annie a rifle. “Take this, and this, too.“ He gave her his Walther and a spare clip. “Keep watch from that window. And don’t you dare go anywhere without telling me.” He picked up the gas cans he’d retrieved from the storeroom. “Where are you going?” she said, taking up position at a living room window that looked out over the approach to the lodge.
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“There are two snowmobiles in the shed out back. We’ll never get a plane in here now. I tried calling for a chopper but the storm has moved south. It will be some hours before anyone close enough can get a bird into the sky. But with the amount of snow we got last night, we can use those snowmobiles. I’m going to fuel them up, come back for you and a few supplies.” His eyes held hers. “Be ready. Keep watch out front.” “Wait,” she said suddenly. “What about this man—the Fox? Isn’t it your mission to get him, not run from him?” “I have a higher priority now. You.” “You’ll fail a major mission, Joshua. This is an opportunity that may never present itself again. That man is an assassin wanted worldwide. He…he killed my grandfather.” “We have the diary, Annie. It’s enough. Now I’m going to get you out of here. Alive.” Because if I save you, Annie Lavalle, I will save myself. No job, no career, no life is worth living if I can’t do this. He’d honestly give it all up if it meant keeping her safe. Because now it wasn’t only her life at stake, it was his, too. For the first time in five years, he actually wanted a future. And he wanted it with her. Sure, there would be risks; it may hurt like hell and it might not work, but at least he’d be living. He’d been the walking dead for long enough. *** Annie tucked the diary under her jacket and sighted down the barrel toward the snow-covered forest while Joshua ran though the drifts and ducked into the shed. The lodge fell incredibly silent. Then, abruptly, a noise distracted her, a clatter down the far north end of the building. She spun. The killer was inside! She set the rifle down, chambered a round in the Walther and crept slowly down the long dark passage toward the meat locker, heart thumping. The freezer door was ajar. She edged along the wall, spun inside the meat locker, gun leading. One of the carcasses was swaying. He’d been
