Haunted Heart

Haunted Heart Carolyn Rosewood

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Published By: Etopia Press P.O. Box 66 Medford, OR 97501 http://www.etopiapress.com Haunted Heart Copyright © 2011 by Carolyn Rosewood ISBN: 978-1-936751-45-7 Edited by Georgia Woods Cover by Amanda Kelsey All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Etopia Press electronic publication: July 2011 http://www.etopia-press.net

~ Dedication ~ To David and Nicole, who always encourage me to follow my dreams. Thank you to my editor, Georgia Woods, for loving this story as much as I do, and for taking a chance on me. Thank you to Annie Melton and everyone at Etopia Press for giving Haunted Heart a home. And thank you to the ladies of the Music City Romance Writers for their support and encouragement.

Chapter One She didn’t need Hollywood, or Brett Fontaine. Rowena Sommers stuffed the latest issue of Celebrity back in the magazine rack, glancing around the Pilot gas station to see if anyone was watching. She sipped her coffee, fuming over the slant of the article. Contrary to what the reporter said, her relationship with bad-boy leading man Brett Fontaine was in trouble long before she filed a libel suit against him for leaking her personal e-mails to the tabloids. The dumb-ass reporter should have checked the back issues, like the ones with candid photos of Brett and his female costars, taken every time he went on location. They ran right next to the stories with headlines like: Who’s Keeping Rowena Company While Brett Romps in Australia? A woman in denim cutoffs and an Ohio State Tshirt plucked a copy of the magazine from the rack and glanced sideways, her eyes wide. “This is you. On the cover.” Rowena studied the picture, taken on the steps of the Van Nuys courthouse three weeks ago. The day

she won her lawsuit against Brett. The same day she found out her great-aunt Lunette had died. She’d trade twice the settlement amount to hear Aunt Loony’s voice again. “Yes. That’s me.” Ohio State opened the magazine and skimmed a thick finger along the text. “How much money did he have to pay you? It doesn’t say.” Rowena took another sip of coffee as she tried to formulate an answer that didn’t involve telling this woman where she could stuff that magazine. Her cell chirped. Saved by the ring tone. “I have to take this. Excuse me.” She headed for the counter as she opened the phone with her free hand. “Tricia, impeccable timing, as always. You just saved me from an inquisitive fan.” “And judging by the sarcasm in your voice, I’m guessing you’ve seen this week’s Celebrity?” She glanced back toward the magazine rack, where the woman and a teen dressed like Lady Gaga were reading the article out loud. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. And as if this day could get any worse, I’m forced to drink gas station coffee.” Tricia laughed. “No Starbucks in Creek Ridge, Ohio?” Her best friend’s voice reached across the miles, tugging at her heart. Had it been a huge mistake leaving LA? “God, I hope there’s still a Starbucks here.” She took another sip. “This is actually better

than the brown goo they tried to serve me at the Holiday Inn Express this morning.” “Have you been to Aunt Loony’s house yet?” asked Tricia. Rowena swiped her credit card through the machine. “On my way now. I’ll call and let you know what the contractor said.” Ohio State and Lady Gaga moved behind her in line, still talking about the article. Rowena’s fingers trembled as she put the card back in her wallet. She pushed past them without a glance. As she opened the door to the parking lot she heard one of them mutter something, but only caught the words “Hollywood” and “bitch.” Wonderful. Back in town less than twenty-four hours and already someone thought she had an attitude. So much for believing the gossip wouldn’t follow her home. She waited until she pulled out of the parking lot in her brand-spanking-new Infinity SUV before screaming. Dialing her iPod menu to Led Zeppelin, she turned up the volume, loud. Angry, frustrated, rebellious. Perfect. The readers of Celebrity weren’t interested in the story behind the lawsuit. They didn’t care about the string of bullshit promises Brett had made. Or the callous way in which he’d trashed her costume design career and her industry contacts with a few

keystrokes, all because she’d dared to issue him an ultimatum. They only cared about two things: reading her personal e-mails, and how much money the Superior Court of Los Angeles had ordered him to pay her because of what he’d done. They didn’t care why she was in Ohio, or that Aunt Loony was dead. Brett’s money wouldn’t bring her back. Fun and zany, she’d been dubbed Aunt Loony by Rowena’s father when he was a teen, and she’d loved Rowena and her five siblings as if they were her own. Fresh grief mixed with anticipation. Willow Lane was less than two miles away. Would she be able to handle walking through Aunt Loony’s house, knowing she’d never see her warm smile again? Spotting a cop parked in front of a strip mall, she braked. Just for good measure, she turned down the volume on Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. She could see the headlines now: Rowena Sommers Arrested for Speeding in Hometown! The memories overwhelmed her when she turned onto Willow Lane. She’d spent almost as much time on this street as her own, two blocks over. It hadn’t changed in ten years. The oak tree in front of Traci Westphall’s house, where she used to hide from her older sister Emma, still had dead branches along one side. Two doors down, she half expected Bud

Williams to materialize in his driveway, sweeping up leaves and twigs while he muttered about the damn, dirty trees. The scent of roses, lavender, and freshly cut grass filled the air. May sunshine shimmered on the pavement. The smells evoked memories of the end of each school year, when the magic of summer stretched out endlessly. Summer vacation meant going barefoot, walking down by the railroad tracks, and staying outside after dark to catch lightning bugs. She was home, ready to be part of this town again. To be with people who made her feel safe, wanted, and who didn’t measure their lives by the latest Nielson ratings or market shares. But would they welcome her? Or had they read the tabloids while laughing at the girl voted Most Likely to Trip Over Her Own Shoelaces? She’d tripped all right, landing smack in the belly of the gossip machine. The imposing Queen Anne at the end of the street, just before the entrance to Oak Park, rose into view. Despite the faded siding and missing shutters, the grandeur of the home still took her breath away. As her eyes settled on the four-story tower, she remembered summer nights in the second-floor bedroom, wishing she could live with Aunt Loony. Her own room, with no Emma harassing her or parents screaming at one of her brothers.

She slowed the car, turning off her iPod. Letting her gaze travel up to the top floor of the tower—the lookout point—she recalled her big brother Jake and his friends pretending they were pirates. Part of the game included the ability to see all the way to Cleveland, where ships from exotic places like Spain or China would pull into port, stuffed with treasure beyond imagination. She was usually stuck playing the kidnapped damsel in distress or a cabin boy. They’d ignored Emma when she repeatedly pointed out Lake Erie had never been plagued by pirates, nor had treasure ships sailed on the Great Lakes. The trim lawn and pristine flower beds brought a smile to her face. Her little brother had actually kept a promise. If a contractor showed up, he’d have kept two. For Mike, that would be a record. She raised her eyes to heaven. “Thank you for the house, Aunt Loony. I promise to take good care of it.” She could almost hear Aunt Loony’s hearty laugh and see the twinkle in her green eyes. Her smile faded at the sight of a silver Mercedes parked in the driveway. If that belonged to the contractor, she was about to get ripped off. She parked the SUV in front, then caught the hem of her favorite summer skirt in the door as she tried to make a graceful exit. She glanced toward the Mercedes. Too late. The driver’s side door was already open. Classy way to make a first impression,

Rowena. In the towering maple on the front lawn, a pair of robins started to chirp, probably about her clumsiness. She released her skirt then took a deep breath, turning to look at the man leaning against the Mercedes. Her mouth fell open as she scanned his face. It couldn’t be… Vance Whitney—everyone calls me Van—belonged to the perfect, popular crowd of cheerleaders and jocks that had made her existence at Creek Ridge High a lesson in insignificance. He crossed muscled arms over a forest green polo shirt that set off his luminous blue eyes, even at this distance. Broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist, and the khakis he wore accentuated his long legs. The same confident grin she remembered spread across his tanned face. This is the contractor Mike called? No way. Not happening. No matter how hot he still looked.

Vance watched Rowena walk toward him, her long red curls waving gently, framing her oval face. A face he remembered well. But he didn’t remember the way her green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. The pictures in the magazines hadn’t done her justice.

Curvy hips swayed under a flowered skirt. When his gaze traveled up to her chocolate-colored tank top, he grinned. Quite a pleasant change from the baggy T-shirts and sweaters she’d usually worn. He snapped his attention back to her face. A slight frown creased her brow and her eyes darkened in confusion. Didn’t she know about this meeting? Trust Mike to screw this up. He took a few steps toward her and stuck out his hand. “Welcome home, Rowena.” She stared at his hand as if touching it would burn her. When she raised her eyes again he noticed the gold flecks in them, as well as her long lashes. Had she always been this beautiful, this captivating? Not possible. He would have noticed. “How was your trip?” That was lame. He took a deep breath. Time to get a grip. She wasn’t simply Jake’s little sister anymore. She was a celebrity. One of Brett Fontaine’s exgirlfriends. The one who’d successfully sued him and won an undisclosed wad of cash. She owned this house now, and according to Mike, wanted to fix it up so she could live here. That made her a potential client. Van loved the house and had been aching for a chance to restore it to its former glory. Times were tough and people weren’t spending money to fix up old homes. “You look amazing,” he blurted.

So much for keeping it professional. Yes, she did look amazing. Downright incredible, to be honest. But Rowena Sommers attracted gossip like a magnet, and he sure didn’t need any. He’d had enough bad press to last a lifetime. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” He took another step closer and she actually flinched. A whiff of perfume, musky and warm, floated past his face. “Old friend?” She crossed her arms. “Van, the last time we had an actual conversation I was fifteen.” “What are you talking about? We’ve known each other all our lives.” What the hell was wrong with her? Living in California certainly hadn’t done her attitude any favors. Probably thought she was too good for this place now. Her gaze turned defiant. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten high school.” Most of high school was a blur of occasional touchdowns and an endless string of willing cheerleaders. He’d only gone out with Rowena two times, and both dates had been nothing more than a ruse. “Rowena, it was a long time ago.” She uncrossed her arms and her gaze softened, but only a little. “Not long enough for some of us.” “What does that mean?” Van became even more confused when she didn’t

answer. What was her problem? “Didn’t Mike tell you he called me?” “No. He only told me a contractor would meet me here this morning.” “That’s me. We’re the only game in town.” “I can’t hire you, Van. This will never work.” “Why not? We’ve been friends since childhood. Anyone else will charge you three times what I will.” He hated the begging quality his voice had taken on, but he needed this job. Mike had given him the impression this was a done deal. Just show up and give her a quote. Then again, Mike was an idiot. “What you charge has nothing to do with it,” she said. Must be nice to be so blasé about money. She’d turned into a rich bitch out there in California. “Then at least let me take a look inside and see what needs to be done. That way you won’t get ripped off by someone trying to pad the estimate.” And then he’d find Mike and strangle him. She kicked at a loose pebble with the toe of her sandal, and he tried not to stare at her painted toenails, chocolate brown, to match that tank top. “Van, I’m having trouble picturing your business as stable.” His palms started to sweat and he took a deep breath to slow his heart rate. The story of his uncle Mark embezzling company funds had made the

papers outside of Creek Ridge, but he wasn’t sure how far outside. How much did she know? “I guess Jake’s been keeping you up to date on things here.” Jake had moved to Chicago to attend college right out of high school and still lived there. But since he’d been closer to Rowena than to any of her other siblings, he imagined they still kept in touch. Then again, Mike could have told her the story of Uncle Mark. She looked into his eyes, and a wave of guilt washed over him. The look on her face wasn’t Hollywood rich bitch. It was his childhood friend. It was the innocent high school freshman he’d asked out on a date merely to win a bet. He owed her an explanation about the business, at the very least. He cleared his throat. “Rowena, the papers made a lot of unfounded accusations when all that stuff about my uncle came out. We’re struggling in this economy like everyone else, but the business is sound.” “You don’t understand,” she said, frowning. “This is Aunt Loony’s house. I don’t want a bunch of your football ex-teammates getting drunk and screwing it up.” “Why would you think that?” He’d assumed she was talking about the stuff in the papers. Didn’t sound like it. She held his gaze. “It’s what you did. Hang out

with the team, drink a few beers, and occasionally cause some minor vandalism for shits and giggles.” He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until a sigh escaped. “That’s all over now, Rowena. No drunkenness on the job, no vandalism, minor or otherwise. My crew works hard.” “Leopards don’t change their spots.” Her voice sounded bitter, tight. Was she talking about him, or her Hollywood ex-boyfriend? If the tabloids were accurate, he’d trashed her reputation and her career because she’d had it out with him over his cheating. He couldn’t fault her for being hurt. And if the stories were true, Brett Fontaine had it coming to him. But that had nothing to do with this job, or with him. “I’m a different person now, Rowena.” “Not sure I can believe that.” “I’m confused. Are you refusing to hire me because of what my uncle did, or because of the way I acted in high school?” Her eyes cut to a spot behind his shoulder, and her tan couldn’t hide the sudden flush on her cheeks. He didn’t understand her reaction. She was a celebrity. Way out of his league. She could wallpaper several rooms of Aunt Loony’s house with all the magazine covers she’d graced. “Jake told me they recovered all the money your uncle stole.” “That’s right. And my father repaid the customers

who were shorted because of it. Rowena, this house means a lot to me too. At least let me give you a quote. I hate the idea of you getting ripped off by a stranger.”

Rowena didn’t like feeling backed into a corner. If his business was still the only one in town, she didn’t have time to brood over the past. Aunt Loony’s house needed work, and she needed a contractor. But why did it have to be him? And why did he have to look so good in dark green? His football jersey had been that color too. Focus on the job, not him. “How long have you owned the business?” “Four years. Ever since my father died.” “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the funeral, Van. I was out of the country.” Confronting Brett and what’s-her-name in Canada. “Mike mentioned that. Thanks, though.” “Is there anyone on your crew you didn’t play football with?” One corner of his mouth twitched. “Quite a few of them, actually.” “Are you still a firefighter as well?” She had to keep talking. Anything to keep her mind off his full lips and all those muscles.

A shadow of pain crossed his face. “No. I quit that about six years ago.” She bit the inside of her cheek. She had a fire that needed to be put out. “Too hard doing both?” “You could say that.” His eyes darkened and his voice had taken on an odd, distant quality. Pulling her gaze from his face to give herself a moment to think, she concentrated on the landscaping. Why was she unable to hold a conversation with someone she’d known her entire life? It felt awkward talking to Van. No, awkward wasn’t quite the right word. More like torture. Her emotions were still too raw from Brett’s betrayal. Seeing Van again whisked her back in time, but not in a good way. She’d come home to heal, not stand faceto-face with a constant reminder of teenage angst. It was ridiculous to feel this way after all she’d been through. And yet, when she looked into his eyes, back to her freshman year she went. “Look,” he said, “I promise I’ll do a great job for you. And if you decide you don’t want to live here, you could always sell it. Even in today’s market it would make you some nice cash.” He actually smacked his own forehead. “Scratch that. Guess you probably don’t need extra cash right now.” He’d obviously kept up with the gossip columns.

“I’d rather not talk about the settlement, Van. I’ve already had a stranger ask me this morning how much I got.” “I wasn’t asking about it,” he said, his voice full of sarcasm. Nice to know he still had that smart-ass streak. She scanned the house, taking in the missing shingles, the peeling paint, and the broken bricks on the walkway. Sell it? No, she’d never be able to do that. She almost told him so, but she didn’t want to hear another derisive remark. He opened the door of his Mercedes and reached across the driver’s seat. She admired the view from behind, until he turned around, then she forced her eyes to the clipboard in his hand. “Let’s go inside and see what needs to be done,” he said, turning toward the front porch. He was assuming a lot here. She hadn’t agreed to let him give her a quote. Fishing the house keys out of her bag, she brushed past him and led the way up the stairs. When she reached for the screen door, he moved past her toward the railing on the far end. “I wonder if it’s still there?” he asked, leaning over. “If what’s still there?” She walked to his side and followed his gaze. “The doghouse we built for that stray cat, remember?”

“You mean Tiger?” The cat was a big male red tabby she’d had when she was about six years old. He’d let her carry him in her arms all over the neighborhood. She peered over the edge of the porch again, half expecting the doghouse to materialize. “I guess it’s gone.” He stood so close she felt the heat coming off his body. His strong, muscular, grown-up body. Not the eight-year-old boy who built a doghouse for his best friend’s younger sister, or the high school football player who asked her out only to win a stupid bet. “Rowena.” He used that voice to say her name. That same come-out-back-with-me voice she remembered. She had no reason to believe he’d changed, and she would not go down that road again. “Time for you to give me that quote.” His gaze held hers, intense and searching. “Rowena, this is none of my business, but I’m sorry Brett Fontaine hurt you.” He took one step toward her and she fought the impulse to put up her hand to stop him. His gaze was expectant, waiting. She had no idea how to respond. Was this a trick? A way to gain her trust and confidence? That’s all their two dates had been—a ruse. He hadn’t been interested in her. Was he pulling the same nonsense now? He needed this job, and he thought he could charm his way into it.

So why couldn’t she just tell him to go to hell? And how long could her heart beat at this pace without giving out? Rowena Sommers Found Dead on Porch of Home She Inherited! The expectant look turned into a frown as they both turned to watch a black Mustang convertible pull into the driveway. A man emerged, carrying a camera and a microphone. Rowena pushed away from the porch railing and groaned. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

Chapter Two Rowena bounded down the stairs and held up her hands. “No. No interviews, no comments, no nothing. Get off my property.” A smile that didn’t reach the man’s eyes revealed dazzling white teeth. Those must have cost him a fortune. “Miss Sommers, Trace Coleman of—” “I told you to get off my property.” “Now, now.” “Oh, that’s it.” One thing she would not tolerate was condescension, especially not today. Before she could open her cell phone, Van was nose-to-nose with Fake Smile, one hand on the man’s chest. “The lady told you to leave.” His voice was like steel. Hard, unforgiving. “And you are?” Trace Coleman’s voice shook, and Rowena suppressed a smile. That Moody Blues song started playing in her head—something about knights on white horses. “The person telling you to leave her alone.” Trace backed up a few paces. “Do you have any idea who I am?” “Oh yeah, I know who you are,” said Van. “You’re the person who trashed the electrical system in Brenda Peterson’s house so badly my crew had a

helluva time fixing it.” Trace frowned. “What?” “Somerset. Last summer. Mrs. Peterson. The show where you claim to have caught the apparition of her dear, departed husband on video.” This moron was a ghost hunter? Trace shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to Rowena. “Miss Sommers, the world has the right to know about your house.” “I don’t believe in ghosts.” She punched in 9-1-1 and held her finger over Send. “You have two seconds to get the hell out of here or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” Trace looked her up and down and Rowena’s skin crawled. “This isn’t over.” Van pushed the man so hard he nearly fell. “You don’t hear very well, do you?” Trace tossed his equipment into the front seat and slid inside his car. He tried to peel out but the brick driveway was still slick from last night’s rain, so all he managed to do was fishtail before finally backing out into the street. “What the hell was that?” She snapped her phone shut and whirled to face Van. He snorted. “What? You mean Ghost Stories isn’t syndicated?” “Even if it is I don’t watch things like that. Who is he?”

“A local paranormal investigator whose findings are questionable. He’s had dozens of complaints from homeowners who say he manufactures the so-called phenomena.” “Lovely. And now he’s targeted Aunt Loony’s house.” “Rowena, he can’t hurt you. Ignore him.” His eyes blazed with indignation. He’d stepped up to protect the house. To protect her. The Van Whitney she’d known in high school would never have done something like that. “Van, thank you.” He shrugged. “It was nothing.” “Not true. I really appreciate it. And thank you for what you said about Brett.” Was he blushing? “Let’s go see what Aunt Loony’s house needs done.”

Rowena unlocked the front door and Van followed her inside, where he breathed in thick dust and the unmistakable smell of mildew. They crossed to the center of the foyer and looked around. The room was empty except for a walnut table against one wall, next to the wide, sweeping staircase. Was that a rotary phone? He peered under the table and traced the black phone line to the jack in the wall, wondering if it was still in service.

“I smell mold. We’ll need to clean that up before you can move in.” When he picked up the receiver, the soft buzz of a dial tone greeted him. “I’m moving in today.” “I would not advise that.” “Van, it always smelled like this. You just don’t remember. Once I air it out a bit it’ll be fine.” She walked through an archway toward the kitchen. “Aunt Loony never used the A/C. The only thing that chased the musty smell from this house was to open all the windows and let in fresh air.” One thing certainly hadn’t changed about Rowena. Her damn stubborn streak. While he listened to her open and close drawers and cabinets, he started writing on his clipboard. Update phone lines. She’d need cable for an Internet connection and TV. Check A/C unit. Probably didn’t work anymore. It had been installed before he was born. New drywall. If the mildew had spread to the subfloors and walls, they’d have to go. The walls were probably still plaster. The roofing was probably asbestos. That would cost her a pretty penny to have removed. “Ow!” Rowena yelped. He caught a faint whiff of ozone. “You OK?” he called. “This light switch never worked right. I should have remembered that.” Update electrical.

When Van walked into the parlor, a wave of memories washed over him. He’d spent almost as much time in this house as Rowena and her siblings had. Funny how he’d never noticed the worn-out look. Guilt replaced nostalgia. He should have come to visit Aunt Loony after Rowena left for California. She’d never judged Rowena’s decision to leave home right after high school, and she wouldn’t have judged his choices either. He crouched down and touched the carpet. Horsehair. Good Lord. It was probably original. He’d never noticed that either. Standing up, he added new floors/carpeting to the list. “So, what do you think?” “It needs to be gutted.” “No way. I won’t allow that.” “Rowena, it’s a mess. Worse than Mike said. I haven’t run the water yet, but I’ll bet the plumbing is a wreck too. The flooring needs to go, the electrical needs updating, and I’m telling you the place is riddled with mold. That means new walls. Do you happen to know how old the roof is?” “Van, I know it needs some work, but aren’t you going a bit overboard here?” “Do you think I’d tell you this if it wasn’t true?” What did she think was going on here? That he was playing games? “I don’t know if you would or not. At any rate, no

one is going to rip apart this house.” “Everything needs to be replaced. If you want it to look original when it’s done, you need to hire a restoration expert. That’s me.” She blinked a few times, but her expression never changed. He remembered that too. She had a way of wiping all emotion from her face that made it impossible to tell what she was thinking. She’d learned that from Jake. Whenever they’d gone somewhere they weren’t supposed to, like the railroad tracks next to the zoo, they were able to keep it from her parents by pulling an impassive face when questioned. “I’m going upstairs to pick out a bedroom.” As she turned to head toward the stairs, he grabbed her arm, not liking the way a jolt of electricity shot through him as he touched her skin. Not liking it one bit. “You are not staying here. Not until someone has a chance to check the house for mold.” She pulled her arm away and frowned. “Don’t manhandle me!” He sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. But you can’t stay here. It’s not safe.” “I have to stay here. I can’t keep Snowball at the hotel, and Mike and Cindi already called this morning and told me to pick her up today. Apparently she threw up all over their house last night.”

“Who is Snowball?” “My cat.” “You brought a cat with you from California?” “Well I wasn’t going to leave her there.” “But you were OK leaving her overnight with Mike and Cindi?” “Touché.” She almost smiled. “Maybe you could stay with them while the house is being restored?” Rowena gave him a droll look. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.” She had a good point. Cindi was bad enough, but each of their three demon boys gave new meaning to the term “problem child.” Van ran a hand through his hair. “There has to be someone you can stay with. Or a place you can rent. It’ll only be for a few months.” “Months?” “Rowena, the house needs everything new.” “If I hire you, you’ll have to replace everything with me living here.” She was out of her freaking mind. It was the only explanation. “And if I refuse?” “I’ll hire someone else.” She crossed her arms, her jaw set and eyes hard. “No one will agree to do all that work while you live here.” He couldn’t lose this job. A dozen reasons why he should insist she find somewhere else to stay flitted through his mind, but as he ticked off each one,

he knew she wouldn’t be in any actual danger. As long as she didn’t trip over a tool or something. But she would be mightily inconvenienced. Maybe that would dissuade her? “You’ll have no privacy. You’ll have to move all your stuff into a few rooms, and then keep changing rooms as we work through the house. And Snowball absolutely has to be confined while we’re working.” “But I plan to work all day too.” “On what?” The magazines said Brett Fontaine ruined her career. “On something I possibly have going with a friend from school.” “Will this something require an Internet connection? You won’t have one for a while.” That ought to do it. “I have an air card.” Well of course she did. Anything else? Like magic fairy dust, perhaps? He was hitting brick walls and running out of arguments. “It’ll be noisy all day. You’ll have plaster dust all over everything you own.” He let his gaze travel over her tank top and skirt. “Including your designer clothes.” “I’ll go to the library during the day if it gets to be too distracting, and I can keep the clothes in garment bags.” They stared at each other, her green eyes challenging him. A sudden urge to touch her hair

shot through him. He was in trouble here. Deep, deep trouble. “This goes against my better judgment, Rowena.” “I need to be here to keep an eye on your beerdrinking buddies.” “I reserve the right to insist you stay somewhere else if you get in our way.” “You have no rights here, Van.” She turned toward the staircase. He watched her hips sway under the flowered skirt as she climbed the stairs. “Does this mean I’m hired?” “Not yet.” *** When Rowena walked into the second floor of the tower, the nostalgia that washed over her was so strong she had to sit on the edge of the bed until the dizziness passed. She’d spent most summer nights here, and quite a few during the school year. Twentyeight years of memories were wrapped up in this home. If the walls and floors were ripped out and replaced, would it still feel the same? Would it be the same? Damn Van and his beautiful blue eyes and muscled arms. Who the hell did he think he was? She

should have taken care of hiring a contractor on her own. When she picked up Snowball later she’d let Mike have it for not telling her who he called. She ran a finger over her forearm. Had she imagined the spark that jumped between them when he grabbed her? No. She saw his reaction. He’d felt it too. So what? He was a player. He’d used her to win a bet and then tossed her, and their childhood friendship, aside. She couldn’t forget the times he’d looked right through her, even when she was in the same room with him. And she hadn’t forgotten the way his friends treated her. Some things hurt so badly they stayed with you. “I don’t want them in this house,” she whispered to the cabbage roses on the wallpaper. A whiff of lilacs caught her by surprise. Aunt Loony had always smelled of lilacs. The scent lingered for a few seconds then dissipated. She crossed to the half circle of windows, remembering how she loved to sit here at Christmas and watch the outdoor decorations flicker and shine, up and down the entire street. She peered across the road and spotted a barefoot boy about nine or ten, gawking at the house. He wore baggy cutoffs and a Tshirt with faded writing. One finger disappeared inside his left nostril. She threw open the nearest window and leaned

out, making a mental note to find the screens later. “Hi, there!” She waved to him. His jaw dropped and the offending finger fell to his upper lip, then he turned and ran. One of the neighbors who believed in ghosts? Well, she’d put an end to that nonsense. The only things haunting this house were her own childhood memories, and those couldn’t frighten anyone. She wandered through the rest of the upstairs rooms, turning on the taps in the two bathrooms. The pipes rumbled and complained but the water flowed clear. The larger of the two had a shower, installed around the time Rowena started middle school. She reached in and ran the water, holding her hand under the stream until it turned warm. Hot water heater still worked. That would make Van happy. As she strolled back into the hallway Van’s voice float up the stairs. “Rowena?” He came into view around the corner. “I just checked out the basement. Call an exterminator.” “Roaches?” God, she hoped not. “Worse. Mice.” “I’ll turn Snowball loose down there.” “Very funny.” He frowned, then sighed the way Jake used to when he was about to lose his patience with her. “What’s funny about it? She’s a great mouser.” “Rowena, you have a serious rodent problem.

They could start chewing on the wiring, and then you’d have a fire.” He dug through the stack of papers on his clipboard, finally extracting a thin business card holder. As he took out a card and handed it to her, their fingers brushed together and she let hers linger a second too long, enjoying the way his eyes softened at her touch. Stop that. “Give them my name. They’ll give you a discount. Call them today.” “Yes, sir.” She executed a salute. “Are you going to take this seriously, or can I expect you to be a smart-ass the entire time we’re restoring the house?” Ouch. “I haven’t said I’d hire you yet.” The frown remained, but something quite the opposite of anger flitted through his eyes. “I’d forgotten what a pain in the ass you are.” That voice again. Low, sexy, enticing. It suddenly felt too warm in the hallway. She brushed past him and opened the window, drinking in the western breeze.

Chapter Three When Rowena stood in front of the window, Van could see the silhouette of her legs and hips through the skirt. Had she done it on purpose? No. She wasn’t flirting with him. She didn’t even trust him. What had he expected? She’d been gone ten years, living a glamorous life, except for the past year while her lawsuit got dragged through the media. That part he could empathize with. He knew firsthand what it felt like to have someone trash your reputation. “OK.” She glanced around the hallway. “How much will all this cost me?” Taking a seat on the floor, he punched buttons on the calculator at the top of his clipboard, acutely aware that she’d dropped into a cross-legged position in front of him. The breeze from the open window carried the scent of her perfume past his nose. “You mentioned before you’d be working from home,” he said, without looking up. “Doing what?” “Do you remember Toni Fleming? She was in your grade.” The name was vaguely familiar. “She was in plays or something, right?” “She worked behind the scenes doing sets and

costume design.” He nodded, continuing with the calculations. “She has her own design firm now, across from Playhouse Square. Mostly local stuff, but she’s made New York contacts and needs help. I’ve sent some of my designs to her and she’s interested.” “That’s great.” He looked up from his clipboard, debating whether to ask. “But I thought Brett Fontaine…the magazines said your career was over.” The intensity of her gaze grew uncomfortable. “He blackballed me in Hollywood, but New York is different.” Her voice was tight, controlled, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “I didn’t mean to upset you by asking. It’s none of my business.” She turned slightly to stretch out her legs, and he tried not to stare at them. “You didn’t upset me. Hollywood is all about who knows who. Even mediocre talent can rise to the top if you know the right people.” Something in her voice tugged at his heart, and he knew he was playing with fire if he continued down this path, but she was hurting inside because of some big shot actor. “That doesn’t mean you were mediocre, Rowena. It just makes the system flawed.” She glanced away, but not before he saw a shadow of pain cross her face. It made him want to gather her in his arms and hold her until she felt safe

again. Good Lord. Where had that come from? “You weren’t mediocre in school,” he offered. “Not academically. Socially was a different matter, of course.” She fixed him with a piercing stare, and he winced inwardly as a memory from her freshman year flashed through his mind. About a month after their ill-fated dates, a senior dance team member tripped and fell in the cafeteria, spilling Coke all over Rowena who had the misfortune to walk past at precisely the wrong moment. Instead of helping Rowena clean her sweater, the gang of cretins sitting with the senior pelted Rowena with their drinks until a teacher broke it up. Rowena trudged around the rest of the day with dark streaks on her cream-colored sweater, prompting a new nickname: Poop Stain. He’d laughed along with his friends as they watched the scene unfold, but also remembered feeling like a giant creep for not rising to her defense. Her voice snapped him back to the present. “…but what I really enjoyed were the school plays, especially when I got to help with the scenery and costumes.” “You helped design the costumes for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, right? They were great.” Her jaw dropped. “You went to a play in high

school?” Van flushed. “We sat in the back.” “No way. I don’t believe you.” Dammit. Why had he said anything? The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I went because Cheryl Larson was in it.” Another shadow of pain crossed Rowena’s eyes, and in that instant Van knew she not only remembered the juvenile pranks and nicknames from high school, she also remembered the star players. “Of course,” she said, fixing her gaze on a spot near his feet. “How could I forget?” She looked up, her eyes cold. “Isn’t that the cheerleader you married?” Her gaze shot to his left hand. He looked at the wall. “Yes.” “What happened?” “What makes you think something happened?” He couldn’t talk about that. Not now. Not ever. Not with Rowena. He jumped slightly when she took hold of his left hand. “No wedding ring and no tan line. So either you never wore one, or it’s been off your hand for a while.” Her skin was warm and soft, and there was that electric jolt again. He pulled his hand out of her grasp. “It’s been gone for a while.” “What happened?” she repeated, more gently this time.

When he finally looked into her eyes and saw genuine concern, fresh guilt hit him square in the gut. “I’d rather not talk about it, OK?” “OK.” She pointed at his clipboard. “How much?” “This is only a ballpark, because I don’t know what we’ll find when we knock down the walls.” “Van, I said I don’t want the house altered that much.” His first impulse was to lash out at her again for being so stubborn about what needed to be done, but when he saw distress in her eyes, he spoke softly, choosing his words. “Rowena, I understand how much you love this house. But I’m positive there is mold growing behind the walls, and you can’t just leave it there. It’ll never pass code, and it’s not safe for you. Or for Snowball.” “I don’t want you to turn it into a stark box. I want it to look original. I don’t want it to lose its charm.” His gaze swept over her face and hair. She hadn’t lost her charm either. Underneath all the gossip and drama he’d read about, she was still Jake’s little sister. Stubborn, yet vulnerable. It was an enticing combination. “I totally get that,” he said. “And I promise you I’ll do everything I can to preserve its character. A coat of paint over new drywall and I swear you won’t

know the difference.” “How much?” she asked. He gave her a figure, and told her she’d probably end up paying twice that before they were finished. “You sure?” she asked, frowning. “I’m absolutely certain. The whole house needs to be redone. You’re talking major renovation here.” “It seems low.” “Low? This seems low? Did you add the right amount of zeroes, Miss Math Whiz?” She laughed. “I’m hardly a math whiz. It’s just that I know people who paid that much to have a single room redone.” “Holy crap. You must know some high rollers.” She stood up in one graceful, easy movement, and he couldn’t help but follow the curve of her tanned legs. He scrambled to his feet before she could accuse him of trying to look up her skirt. As she descended the stairs he followed, enjoying the view of her ass. “How much of a deposit would you require to start work?” He bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Rowena, we’ve known each other all our lives. I trust you.” He nearly collided with her as she stopped abruptly on the second-to-last step and whirled around to face him. “It’s not a question of trust. It’s a

question of money. I’m sure you have to pay your crew.” “Does this mean I’m hired?”

Rowena turned around so he wouldn’t see the blush creeping up her neck. When she’d stopped suddenly and turned, her eyes had been level with his waist and her thoughts had gone places she didn’t want him to see. “I don’t know yet. How soon would you be able to start?” “I’d have to pull permits, but that shouldn’t take long. I imagine we’d be ready in a week or so, at least with preliminary work.” “That soon? Don’t you have other projects to finish?” He swallowed hard and shifted his gaze to the wall. “Like I said, times are tough around here. We have a few small things going, but nothing that would delay starting this.” When she opened the front door she realized what was missing on the porch. “Did you happen to see the wicker furniture when you were down in the basement?” “Yes, and don’t put it out here. It belongs in a Dumpster.” “Don’t tell me the mice ate the porch furniture.”

He grinned. “They don’t actually eat wicker, but they’ve done some serious damage to it.” She sighed. “I’ll have to buy some. And the upstairs screens are all missing.” “Ask in town about the furniture. They might be able to order it for you. The screens are probably in the attic. Want me to go back inside and take a look?” “You wouldn’t mind?” “Not at all.” He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat or two. She remembered that smile. That dazzling, perfect-toothed smile. But not for her. That smile belonged to the groupies who’d clung to Van and his friends like bees drawn to an open can of Coke. After he went back into the house, she sat on the rail to try to make sense of everything. The house needed more work than she’d ever imagined. It wasn’t the money. The settlement would more than cover it, but she couldn’t just sit back and live off it. She wanted to prove to everyone she could earn a living without Brett Fontaine and his industry contacts. She’d hoped to move into the house and start working on her designs for Toni. Now she wouldn’t be able to get any work done unless she went somewhere else during the day. And if she stayed here she’d be with Van. All day. Every day. For months. If she hired him.

Van opened the front door. The smear of dirt across his nose was an endearing contrast to his crisp, clean clothes. “The screens are up there, along with a few hornet nests. Want me to put them in for you?” “Are you sure you have time?” “I have plenty of time, Rowena.” A fresh stab of guilt tore through her as he disappeared back inside. He probably had no idea how much he’d hurt her all those years ago, and it wouldn’t change anything to tell him. She was just tired and disoriented. The past couldn’t hurt her. And neither could Van Whitney. She went back inside and curled up on the sofa in the parlor while she listened to Van work upstairs. This had always been one of her favorite rooms. Most of the furniture was original from when Aunt Loony and Uncle Cal had first been married. Sitting in here was like being whisked back in time. The cell phone ringing pulled her out of memories. She rolled her eyes as she glanced at the caller ID. He sure didn’t take a hint very well. “What do you want?” she barked. “I want to know why you’ve been ignoring my calls for three days.” Brett sounded petulant. Brett always sounded petulant. “Because I told you to drop dead. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well I have plenty to say to you.” “Fuck off.” She snapped the phone shut and looked up to find Van standing there, a deep frown on his face. “Trouble?” he asked with more curiosity in his voice than she cared to hear. It was none of his damn business. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She looked away before he could see the truth in her eyes. “The screens are in.” “Thanks. That was fast.” He grinned. “They’re easy to put in.” She rose from the sofa. “I’ll walk you outside.” They crossed the driveway and stood next to his Mercedes. “This is nice,” she said. “It’s a lease.” She looked up into Van’s beautiful face. His hair had always looked like spun gold in the sunlight, and ten years hadn’t dulled it. It was gorgeous. He was gorgeous. “Do you have a business card?” she asked. “And let me give you my cell number.” He looked like he was going to say something, but instead pulled a card out of his pocket. “I’ll give you my personal cell too,” he said, writing a number on the back and handing her the card. She told him her number and he wrote it on his clipboard. “Well, thank you again, Van. I’ll let you know.

And thanks for putting the screens in.” “Not a problem, Rowena.” They locked gazes as he settled into the seat. “Van, who can I ask about the work you’ve done?” His eyebrows shot up. “Ask anyone. We’ve done work all over town. “Can you give me names?” He looked at her like she had lobsters crawling on her face. “You want references?” “Why is that such a bizarre request?” “Give me your e-mail address and I’ll send you a list.” His voice held a note of defeat. Van wrote down her e-mail address, then tossed the clipboard onto the passenger seat. “Rowena, I really want this job. Aunt Loony’s house should be restored by someone who cares about it as much as you do.” A lump formed in her throat. Aunt Loony had always liked him. She wouldn’t want strangers tearing apart her house. But Rowena didn’t know if she could trust Van. Or maybe you can’t trust yourself around him? “I’ll let you know, Van. Thanks again for coming out this morning.” She watched him pull out of the driveway, then sprinted back inside as Aunt Loony’s phone rang.

Chapter Four Van didn’t have to drive past Portage Street on his way to the Saloon. In fact, it was on the other side of town, twenty minutes out of his way. If someone had asked him why he chose to take that particular route this afternoon, he wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint the reason. Maybe it had been Rowena’s question—Are you still a firefighter as well? Or, it could have been the way she’d grabbed his hand and asked what happened to break up his marriage to Cheryl Larson. Whatever the reason, he circled the block and parked across the street from 1729 Portage Street, staring at the gleaming six-story structure. The original owners of the apartment complex had filed bankruptcy after the fire. Too many lawsuits. The building should never have gone up that fast. All the sprinklers and smoke detectors were in working order. But when a tenant decides to make bombs in his apartment, things get out of hand very quickly. The other tenants, and the families of the ones who died, felt the owners should have known what was going on. They’d received enough complaints of strange smells on the entire floor, and odd comings and goings at all hours of the night.

Unfortunately for everyone concerned, they’d ignored the complaints. The brick structure across the street looked nearly identical to the building that burned out of control that night, six years ago. The same night he discovered his wife was banging his former football coach. The same night he hadn’t paid enough attention to his job because his mind was on Cheryl and Coach Templeton and twin twelve-year-old girls died. Someone had snapped pictures of Van confronting Cheryl and her lover while the building burned across the street. He should have been inside the building, searching for trapped inhabitants, not across the street, screaming at his wife. The papers printed those pictures, alongside the photos of the twin girls being carried out. It didn’t matter that the coroner said they’d most likely died of smoke inhalation before anyone could have found them. The reporter who wrote the article hinted that the girls died because one of the firefighters was otherwise occupied. Couple that with Uncle Mark’s embezzlement, news that had been less than a few months old at the time of the fire, and the town was ready to lynch anyone whose last name happened to be Whitney. Uncle Mark had stolen money by keeping two sets of books for the business. It was purely by accident

Van’s father found out what his brother had been up to. He picked up his clipboard and stared at Rowena’s cell phone number and e-mail address. Maybe he should ask her for tips on how to deal with public humiliation? She’d certainly had her share. Far more than he had. Was that sassiness today all an act, or had she simply learned to cope with it? Van lifted his eyes from the clipboard and watched the building. He didn’t realize he was crying until it suddenly looked fuzzy. He swiped at his eyes and got the hell out of there before someone recognized him. *** Van took another sip of beer and looked around the Saloon, remembering when it was nothing more than a post-high school hangout, with the same crowd nearly every night. The owner back then turned a blind eye to liquor laws, so it’d been easy to get beer. The regulars came and went as they tried college for a while, very few of them staying more than a couple of semesters. After a few years it morphed into a country bar, complete with line dancing, then finally settled into its present state as a place to drown your sorrows and bitch about the

economy and the government. The current owner, Dan Jeffries, put pool tables on the dance floor, but they collected more empty bottles than players. The door opened and Mike walked in, spotted Van, and shuffled over to plop down on the stool beside him. Dan didn’t even have to ask. He popped the top off a bottle of Bud Light and placed it in front of Mike. “How’s it going?” asked Van. Four years younger than Rowena, the last of six kids, Mike looked like hell. Married at seventeen, he and Cindi had a sixyear-old boy who was well on his way to a juvenile record, and two younger sons determined to follow suit. But then, the poor kids were fighting DNA. Mike’s brother Andy was in prison for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and another brother, Kevin, was hiding out in Mexico because he owed a lot of money to some very nasty people. “Cindi’s pregnant again,” he said, just before draining half the bottle in one gulp. “Ever think of getting a vasectomy?” Beer sprayed out of Mike’s mouth and nose. “Hell no!” “Heard you were out of work again.” “I mow lawns and stuff.” Great. Big money there. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Aunt Loony’s house. The yard looks nice.”

Mike belched and raised a finger, signaling for Dan. “Did Row hire you?” “Not yet.” Mike frowned. “Why the hell not?” “She wants references.” Mike snorted. “Man. She’s turned into a snooty bitch.” Van kept quiet. Anything he said to Mike would get back to Rowena. He needed this job. Mike looked him in the eye. “If she hires you, you should put me on the crew since I got you the job and all.” Van swallowed hard, took a sip of beer, and tried to think of a fresh excuse. Mike had been asking for a job since he left high school. “We’ve been through this before. You know why I won’t.” Mike grunted and drained the rest of the bottle. “Row shoulda come straight home soon as I called her about the old bat dying.” Van gritted his teeth. Rowena hadn’t lived here since Mike was fourteen. Did she have any idea what an asshole he’d turned out to be? “She was in court that day, and I imagine she had a few things to take care of before moving across the country.” Dan plunked down a second bottle and Mike lifted it to his lips. “I hope she knows I expect to get paid for that work I did.” “Maybe you should tell her that?”

Mike belched again. Van glanced around the bar and wondered why he’d come here. He should have stuck around and offered to help Rowena with wicker furniture shopping. Right now they could be sitting on the porch, sharing a bottle of wine, enjoying the warm May evening. Don’t go there. Can’t let that happen. “Her stupid cat puked all over my bed.” Van bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Snowball must be one smart cat. Mike lowered his voice. “Don’t know why you want to work on that house. The place gives me the creeps.” Van grinned. “Don’t tell me you believe that crap about it being haunted?” “Hell no! It’s just a creepy place.” “Then it’s just as well I won’t put you on my crew, isn’t it?” Van clapped Mike on the back. Mike responded with a loud, wet belch this time. Van shook his head and finished his beer. This was no way for him to spend an evening. It hadn’t been for years. He threw some money on the bar and stood up. “Hey, she talk about that actor boyfriend of hers?” Mike asked. “Mike, you’re drunk. Go home to your wife and kids.” Van forced his feet to move toward the door. “She sure lived the high life for a while, no? And

now she’s home with her tail tucked between her legs, like a scared dog.” Van spun around. “What the hell does that mean?” “Aw, come on. You saw the way she acts now. Thinks she’s all high and mighty.” “She’s your sister, you asshole.” Van took a step toward Mike and curled his hand into a fist. Mike flinched and nearly fell off his stool. “OK…whatever. Just tell her I expect to be paid for the yard work.” Van took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. “Tell her yourself.” He opened the door and stalked to his car before common sense flew out the window and he decked Mike. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as Rowena’s green eyes and those burgundy curls floated through his mind. He’d nearly punched her brother’s lights out. Well, so what? He deserved it. Rowena wasn’t acting high and mighty. In fact, she’d looked a bit lost and confused by the time he left Aunt Loony’s house. He thought about the time they’d spent together as kids. Carefree, fun times. She’d been like that. Easy to be with, and always up for an adventure with him and Jake. Then in middle school they stopped hanging out with her. He didn’t remember why. It just…happened. And when he made the football

team, suddenly there were other girls…lots of them. Dating in high school had been easy. He didn’t have to do anything. They pursued him. Marriage had been easy. He’d had his pick of blushing brides. Being married hadn’t been easy at all. Not with a wife like Cheryl. After they divorced, the thought of dating her former high school friends had been too depressing, and too humiliating. And since the divorce? Few and far between. He didn’t know how or where to meet sane women. It was like trying to climb a mountain without the right gear. You only got so far before you fell on your ass. The ex-football player every guy in school envied had turned into a working stiff with friends who got drunk three times a week, and either cheated on their wives or wished they could. “Get real,” he said out loud. “You don’t have a clue how to meet women. You never had to learn.” He examined his empty ring finger, remembering the jolt Rowena’s touch had sent through his body. Had she really been so different in school, or had short cheerleader skirts and the illusion of elite popularity simply blinded him? It was ridiculous, if you really thought about it. They dressed up in their uniforms and strutted through school like peacocks, all because they could toss pigskin or turn cartwheels. It didn’t mean squat once you walked across the stage and grabbed your diploma.

He hadn’t been able to finish one year of college, and neither had Cheryl Larson. Marrying her had been a huge mistake. He knew that, and if he were being brutally honest, he’d known it back then too. Having a ring on her finger hadn’t changed the person she was. He found himself driving slowly down Willow Lane, half hoping Rowena wasn’t outside. What excuse did he have to be here? He lived across town. Several people sat on their porches, gabbing away and pretending to watch their kids, who ran across the lawns and into the street without looking. As he neared the house he tried to come up with a cover story to explain a visit in person rather than a phone call, but his mind went blank. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d never fall for it. And what the hell was he thinking, anyway? She was a potential client. The worst thing he could do was make this personal. And the cell phone caller bothered him. The one she’d told to fuck off. Brett Fontaine? Why was he still calling her? And if it wasn’t Brett, who was it? Another Hollywood boyfriend? Not that it was any of his business. He veered onto Elm Avenue, glancing toward Aunt Loony’s home as he made the turn. Her SUV was parked in the driveway. Damn. He floored the accelerator.

Rowena glanced around the living room cluttered with toys, a sippy cup caked with dried jelly, and an open box of diapers. Her youngest nephew Clay, a smear of ketchup drying on his chin, gaped at her with his mouth open. Behind him, his older brothers Gary and Keith were arguing about who should hold the Wii controller. Her sister-in-law, Cindi, seemed oblivious to the chaos. She handed Rowena a canvas carrier and a large tote. “I had to empty her litter box because the boys spilled milk in it. Gary dunked her food and water dishes into the toilet this morning so I rinsed them out for you.” Cindi’s voice wasn’t even close to concerned that Rowena’s cat had been without food or a litter box all day. Rowena took Snowball’s carrier and the tote bag, wondering how long it would take her cat to recover from twenty-four hours in Hell. “Thanks for keeping her here.” And remind me never to ask you for anything again, you stupid bitch. “I’ll send you a bill for the carpet cleaning.” Rowena knew better than to ask if she was kidding. She wasn’t, even though she doubted the carpets in Mike and Cindi’s house had ever been cleaned before. “So, Mike says Aunt Loony’s house needs a lot of

work.” Cindi’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. Rowena nodded, her eyes on Gary and Keith, who looked perilously close to blows over the Wii controller. “It does. I’m thinking of hiring Van Whitney’s company to restore it.” Cindi laughed softly. “I think Mike called him as a joke, Rowena.” “What?” Cindi looked her up and down, slowly, and Rowena’s skin crawled. “You won enough money to hire a professional to fix up that dump, didn’t you?” “Meaning what?” “Meaning you should have kept up with the local papers. Van—” A crash, followed by a wail from the boys, sent Cindi stomping across the room. “Godammit, Gary! I told you both to stop fighting over that fucking Wii. Look what you did!” Shards of glass lay at Cindi’s bare feet, the remnants of a lamp that had once graced the shelves of Walmart. Rowena backed out of the room. *** Rowena woke the next morning to the sound of Aunt Loony’s phone ringing again. “Are you freaking

kidding me?” She answered it, assuming it was the heavy breather from yesterday, and wasn’t disappointed. “Look, you dumb-ass, I’m going to file a police report. Don’t call here again!” The line went dead before she finished her last sentence. Slamming down the receiver, she resolved to change the number. Or better yet, have the service disconnected. Who needed a land line these days? She went into the kitchen and plugged in her espresso maker, hoping it wouldn’t explode. After rescuing Snowball from Mike and Cindi’s, she’d spent a couple of hours cataloguing which outlets and light switches were on the fritz. Van hadn’t been joking about the electricity being a mess. Taking her coffee upstairs she glanced at the alarm clock. Just past seven. The idiotic phone had woken her from the hottest, most vivid dream she’d ever had. Taking a seat on the bed and sipping coffee, she let the last remnants of the dream play across her mind. Snowball gave her a look that left no doubt she was not happy about being disturbed so early, then jumped off the bed. Rowena closed her eyes. Last night’s dream featured Van, here, on this bed, with her. The lights were dim, candlelight possibly, as he slowly undressed her and spoke in that low, sexy voice. The dream had reached the point of being so vivid she

could actually feel his tongue and hands on her body, coaxing her to a pleasure that could only be so complete in a fantasy. Lord knows real sex had never been that good. What was Van like in bed? He’d certainly had enough practice in high school. Not with her, of course. Not sex, anyway. Just those kisses, after their two dates. Those wet, lingering kisses had sent her innocent fifteen-year-old mind racing to places she hadn’t realized it knew how to find. Rowena placed the cup on the nightstand and stretched out on the bed. She traced the outline of her breasts, circling in to tease her nipples to taut points, until they strained against the thin fabric of her tank top. Her fingers became Van’s, stroking until the center of her universe begged for the same attention. She moaned and turned on her side, moving one hand to the hot wetness between her legs. Sliding both hands under her boxer shorts, she stroked her clit as she imagined Van caressing her to a higher plane. She pictured his face, his golden hair, and his intense blue eyes looking into her own as he worshipped her body. When her cell phone rang, she was well on her way to a wave-crashing orgasm. “No way.” She sighed, rolling over to flip it open. “Rowena? Did I wake you?” It was him. Talk about wishful thinking.

“No,” she said, hoping he couldn’t guess the truth from her ragged voice. “No, I was just…I’m fine.” She sat up and took a long swallow of coffee. “Did Jim from Midtown Hardware call you yet?” Who? What? “He said he’d be able to order you any wicker furniture you wanted out of a catalog they have there.” “Oh, yes. Yes he did. I stopped by there yesterday and picked out a set. And the exterminator is coming this morning.” She glanced at the clock. The exterminator was due in an hour. “Good,” he said. “Is that why you called?” To check on me? Really? He paused so long she thought she’d lost the call. “Yeah. Just wanted to make sure you had everything you need for now.” She choked off a laugh, grateful he couldn’t see her face. “Yes. I sure do. Thanks, Van.” Cindi’s words came back to her, the ones about Mike having called Van as a joke. “Van, did you send those references yet?” He cleared his throat. “On that now.” Even with Cindi’s words ringing in her ears, asking for them now felt absurd. Van’s father had built the company from the ground up when he was barely twenty. He must think she was a complete idiot. “Thanks, Van. I appreciate that.”

She closed the phone and glanced at the clock. Picking up where she left off would be pushing it. Unless the exterminator was late. *** Snowball took the entire day to investigate her new surroundings, finally choosing a spot on the kitchen table to watch Rowena finish cleaning the inside of the cabinets. When she finished she stepped into the center of the room and took a deep breath. The kitchen no longer smelled like old food and dust. Now she could relax and meet her new neighbors. She changed into an old pair of capris and a UCLA T-shirt. Nothing too fancy or intimidating. Didn’t want anyone to think she’d come back here wearing an attitude. She even pinned her hair up, although dozens of tendrils escaped anyway. The nose picker across the street waved to her, then poked a taller kid in the ribs and pointed. She waved back, pretending she didn’t notice them whispering behind their hands, and shifted her gaze to a woman she assumed was their mother, sitting on the porch with a bling-covered cell phone held to her ear. The woman placed the phone on a dusty glasstopped table as Rowena climbed the porch steps. “Hi,

I’m Rowena Sommers. I just moved in across the street.” “Cathy Hill. I knew your great-aunt. She always watched our house when we went on vacation.” Cathy pointed to nose picker and his pal. “Them’s my boys, Dillon and Trevor. Hey,” she shouted to them, “come over here and say hi to Miss Rowena.” “We already did,” said nose picker. “Dillon Andrew Hill.” Cathy’s tone held a warning. Rowena studied Cathy’s profile. Probably in her early thirties, but the worry lines around her mouth and the sallow skin made her look much older. Dillon and Trevor climbed the stairs, mumbled hello, then looked to Cathy for their release. She waved them away and they scampered down the street. No doubt to tell all the other kids they’d met the ghost. “Have a seat,” said Cathy. “That paranormal fellow get in touch with you yet?” “Excuse me?” Rowena sat in the ragged chair next to the table. “Trace Coleman. He’s on that ghost hunting show. You know…on channel 5? Ever see it?” “He showed up yesterday, as a matter-of-fact. You didn’t send him over, did you?” Cathy leaned closer, “Didn’t have to. Everyone knew you were moving in. Trace Coleman’s been

wantin’ to investigate that house for years, but your aunt wouldn’t let him.” “And I won’t either. I don’t believe in ghosts.” Cathy laughed. “Well then, you’re the only one on this street who don’t.” Rowena tried to think of a way to change the subject. There had to be some common ground here. Cathy’s cell phone rang—the theme from American Idol—and she lifted it to her ear. While Cathy talked on the phone Rowena looked up and down the street, then across at Aunt Loony’s house. Her house. It still didn’t seem real. She was a homeowner. She’d spent her first two years in LA in a tiny apartment with a roommate she met online, each of them trying to catch a break. After she met Brett she moved to a much larger, and very expensive, apartment he kept hidden from the public eye. And other key people, like his agent and his ex-wife. For the first time in her adult life she owned property. Real property. It was overwhelming and exciting and liberating, all at once. Cathy’s voice pulled her away from her thoughts. “So, is the gossip true?” Rowena’s palms grew damp. “Is what gossip true?” “What the magazines say. Were you really with Brett Fontaine all those years?” Rowena tried not to laugh. Brett Fontaine, indeed.

What would Cathy say if she told her Brett’s real name, Harold Strajeski? Rowena always thought his stage name was a bit ridiculous. He guarded his true identity, and his past, like they were the crown jewels. Cathy’s eyes danced with intrigue and her nostrils flared slightly. Rowena pictured her in high school as the one who knew everything about everybody, and wasn’t averse to making things up if the real stories weren’t juicy enough. “Cathy, I grew up two streets away on Dogwood. This is my home. I came back to get away from gossip.” Cathy reached behind her chair and picked up a bottle of iced tea, took a long slug, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Well, I’ve only lived in this town for about eight years, but I can tell you right now that you’re the most talked-about woman here. I guess the gossip followed you all the way from California.”

Chapter Five Rowena woke to the sound of a phone ringing, sat up, and vowed to do two things as soon as the sun rose. File a police report and tear the damn phone out of the wall. The alarm clock said 11:43 p.m. So much for a good night’s sleep. She swung her legs out of bed but stopped before her feet touched the floor. The phone wasn’t ringing. Near her pillow, Snowball stretched and shifted positions. “Go find the noise, girl. Come on. Why can’t you be a dog?” There it was again. More like a cry or a highpitched squeal, similar to tires screeching on pavement or the sound of dry fan belts on a cold morning. It was probably something outside. She grabbed her cell and tiptoed downstairs, stood still in the foyer listening, but the sound had stopped again. As long as I’m awake, I might as well finish off the key lime yogurt. Her hand froze on the kitchen light switch. The door leading to the enclosed back porch stood open. I closed that before I went to bed. She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone bone dry. A board creaked behind her and she

yelped, whirling around. The foyer was empty. “OK,” she whispered. “You’re OK.” Was she really? Her heart was pounding and she had trouble taking a full breath. The cell phone started to slip from her sweaty palm. The highpitched squeal started again, and while she could tell the noise definitely came from outside, this time it sounded more like a human cry. She wanted to run back upstairs but her feet wouldn’t move. Should she call the police? And tell them what? Rowena Sommers Hears Strange Noises In New Home! Snowball meowed softly and Rowena screamed. This was ridiculous. She crossed the kitchen and closed the door to the back porch. It didn’t latch completely. That explained it. She had closed it last night. It just came loose. She’d add that to the growing list of things to be fixed. But when you closed it last night it latched just fine, remember? The squealing started again and she listened, trying to pinpoint its direction. The back yard. Definitely the back yard. She opened her phone and scrolled through the contacts, her finger poised on Tricia’s number. And what exactly could her best friend do from two thousand miles away? She kept scrolling. Mike

and Cindi? Yeah, right. Emma was in Columbus, as were her parents, and if she called either of them they’d only berate her for everything she’d done during the past ten years. That left Van. But she couldn’t call him, especially this late. He was probably sleeping, or had someone with him. Just because he was no longer married didn’t mean he wasn’t involved. She ran upstairs and dived under the covers. Snowball curled up at her feet. The squealing stopped again and she waited. The clock said 12:06 when she closed her eyes. When the noise started again she jerked awake. 12:32. Screw it. If he got mad, she’d apologize. She punched in Van’s number and hit Send.

“There’s nothing out there,” said Van, locking the front door behind him. Rowena sat curled up on the sofa in the parlor, every light ablaze, sipping the cup of chamomile tea he’d made for her. “Did you check the garage? And the garden shed?” He’d been here close to an hour and her voice still shook. “I checked everything. I walked the entire perimeter. If anything was out there, it’s gone now. Maybe it was a cat?” He eyed Snowball, who glared

at him from a chair, her gold eyes full of indignation. “It didn’t sound like a cat. It sounded like a child.” “There are a lot of kids on this street. Maybe you heard someone crying and the sound carried?” Sitting beside her, he tried not to notice the way her curls spilled down one shoulder, leaving her neck exposed on the other side. He envisioned planting a kiss there. Or two. Taut nipples pushed against the fabric of her tank top. Her Bugs Bunny boxers were so short he could see the bottom curve of her left ass cheek. He suddenly wished he’d pulled on jeans instead of sweat pants because one glance at his crotch would reveal what he was thinking. “I know I closed that door before I went to bed.” “It has a loose latch. You probably did close it, but it swung back open, that’s all.” She didn’t look convinced. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?” he said, grinning. “I don’t. It’s not dead people I’m worried about.” “Who are you worried about, then?” “No one.” She shifted to face him and he forced his gaze to stay on her face, not the tank top or the boxer shorts. A faint whiff of perfume tickled the air. It was way too warm in here. “I met the woman across the street yesterday.” “Cathy Hill? She’s married to Dan’s cousin,

Eddie. Dan owns the Saloon.” She nodded. “Is that who you’re worried about?” “I’m not worried about anyone.” “Then why did you mention her?” She shrugged. “Not very friendly.” “Give the neighbors time, Rowena. They’re probably intimidated by you.” “Why would they be?” He smiled. “You’re a celebrity.” She gave him a long look, and he fought a sudden urge to touch her face. “Thank you for coming over. I hope I didn’t wake you.” “I wasn’t really sleeping.” “You’re a night owl.” “Yeah, I guess so.” She placed the mug on the coffee table and uncurled her legs. He followed them all the way down to her toenails, painted red now, then slowly traced them back up, lingering when he reached the promise of what lay beneath Bugs Bunny and her tank top. He forced his gaze to keep going, finally stopping at her beautiful green eyes. “You know, I would have killed for you to look at me like that when we were in high school.” Her voice was low, throaty, her eyes filled with desire. Good Lord. “Rowena, I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.” She leaned close and put her lips on his. They were soft and sweet and completely unexpected. This wasn’t the innocent fifteen-year-old he’d kissed just to win a bet. The woman moving her lips against his was alive with passion. She was provocative, and she was hot for him. He pulled her into a tight embrace, tangling his fingers in those burgundy curls and sliding his tongue inside her open mouth. A loud moan escaped her throat, and she pushed her breasts against his chest. As her tongue played over his, he wondered what the neighbors would say if they made love, right here on this sofa in front of the windows, with all the lights on. An image of them, naked and sweaty, rose in his mind, and he kissed her deeper. His cock throbbed as he caressed the strap of her tank top, aching to free her of it and taste the nipples rubbing against his shirt. She wrapped one leg around his thigh and his hand forgot about the tank top, sliding lower to stroke her thigh. Her soft skin was on fire. He released her mouth and turned his attention to her neck, forcing another moan from her. She tasted like she smelled, musky and enticing. He slid both hands under Bugs Bunny and cupped her bare ass, pulling her toward him, enjoying the way she writhed against his touch. Her hands slid down his back to the edges of his

shirt. Just as she started to pull it up, Snowball leaped onto the sofa, startling them both with a loud meow. Rowena gasped and looked into his eyes, blinking a few times as if she wasn’t sure where she was. “Oh, God. Van, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” He didn’t care why. He just didn’t want her to stop. Damn stupid cat. “Rowena, I had no idea.” She tossed her hair and moved her leg off his thigh. “No idea about what?” He reluctantly pulled his hands out from under her boxers. All the blood had left his brain, and he could barely form an answer to her question. “You weren’t like this in high school.” Her eyes went dark. “How the hell would you know what I was like in high school?” Before he could process the question she rose to her feet, picked up her mug, and left the room. Snowball followed, still meowing. He listened to her rinse out the mug and knew he should go to her, but he didn’t know what to say. Every inch of his body was on fire. He wanted more. And unless he’d misread her, so did she. When she came back into the parlor he crossed the room and stood in front of her, gently taking her face in his hands. She didn’t pull away, but neither did she touch him or move closer. “I’m sorry for everything I did to hurt you back then. If I could erase it, I would.”

She didn’t answer. Just continued to fix him with a cold stare he wanted desperately to melt. “Rowena, please. Can’t we find a way to move past all that?” “Move past it to what? To sex?” He dropped his hands. “I don’t understand what you want from me.” “I’m not one of your bimbo cheerleaders who’ll sneak into an empty classroom with you, or do it in the parking lot after school.” She crossed the foyer and unlocked the front door. “Thanks for coming over. Drive safely.” He was still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened as he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. She kissed him, not the other way around. True, but he’d been ready to jump her bones in a heartbeat. Almost as if he were seventeen again and she was… Yeah. Exactly like that. He’d hurt her back then. Badly. His childhood friend. He’d used her to win a juvenile bet, made while he and his teammates were drunk at a party after a school dance. And once he’d won the bet he went back to screwing as many cheerleaders and dance team members as he could. How could he have been so naive as to think she didn’t still care about that? He pretty much owed Rowena the biggest apology of his life. For what he’d

done to her thirteen years ago, and for tonight.

The next afternoon, Rowena punched in Jake’s number. “Can you talk?” “Hey gorgeous. Of course I can. What’s up?” “The contractor Mike called was Van Whitney.” “And?” “And I’m not sure if I should hire him.” “Hang on a sec.” Rowena listened to the sound of a door being closed. “Too much noise in the hallway. Why aren’t you sure about hiring him? He didn’t do something stupid like make a move on you, did he?” Rowena bit the inside of her cheek. She could still feel Van’s lips and hands on her. “No, nothing like that. Just not sure I can trust him business-wise.” “Rowena, all that stuff with Van’s uncle wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even his father’s fault. I’m sure it’ll be fine. He loved Aunt Loony as much as we did. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her house.” “I made him gave me references. I’ve already checked them and they’re all glowing.” “Then why the hesitation?” Good question. It was no longer strictly Van she didn’t trust. Her own traitorous body was now in the mix. She hated what he’d done to her all those years

ago, but how did that explain the way she’d thrown herself at him last night? “Did you get quotes from anyone else?” he asked. “I can probably find you some names if you want.” “Do you think I should?” Jake sighed in that my-sister-is-being-a-majorpain way. “At least that way you’d know if his quote is fair, but I think I’d rather you tell me why you’re so reluctant to hire him. I know he was a jerk to you in school, but this is business. He’ll do a good job with the house.” Jake hadn’t been part of the bet, but when he’d found out about it, he and Van had nearly come to blows. “Will you come to Ohio and kick his ass if he doesn’t?” Jake laughed. “You know I will.” Rowena called Tricia after she hung up with Jake, and told her every graphic detail from the night before. “You’re going to end up in bed with him.” Tricia had a way of cutting right to the heart of the matter. “Don’t say that. I can’t let that happen.” “Well you can, but it won’t mean anything to him. You have to decide if you’re OK with that.” “Guess I’d better stock up on batteries.” Tricia laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, Rowena. I wouldn’t begrudge you some meaningless sex. God knows you’ve earned it after what Brett put you

through. But I think given your history with Van, you’re likely to get your heart broken if you sleep with him.” “So what should I do?” “Hire him. Sounds like he’s the best person for the job. But leave the house during the day. It’s only for a few months. Think of the way you felt in school when you found out why he asked you out. That should help.” The memory, so strong it made her dizzy, swept through her. On the Monday following her second date with Van he leaned against the cement block in the school hallway, while a cheerleader with perfect hair looked up, her eyes full of lust and adoration. As Rowena watched them, she heard his sexy, come-outback-with-me voice, and saw the look in his eyes. The exact same look she’d seen in those blue eyes before he’d kissed her goodnight. He’d played her. But why? How could he have done this to her? She thought they were friends. By the end of the week, she had the full story of why he’d asked her out. Traci Westphall forwarded an e-mail she’d received from a girl in her English class, who in turn had received it from one of the dance team members. Rowena remembered the horrible, sick feeling in her head as she read it: Un-fucking-believable! Van Whitney won the bet! First base with Rowena Sommers.

Pics attached. The bet sprang from an incident at the Fall Harvest Dance three months earlier. A boy named Justin from her Biology class had asked her to dance. She wasn’t attracted to him, but no one else was asking and she was tired of standing against the wall with her friends, so she accepted. Loud laughter and finger-pointing from Van’s circle of friends filled the gym when Justin’s hands cupped themselves firmly on Rowena’s ass, and she just as firmly slapped his pimpled face. After the dance, the band of cretins Van called friends issued him a challenge. Could the legendary Van Whitney get to first base with Rowena Sommers? They’d been followed on both dates and someone snapped pictures to prove he’d won. “Rowena?” Tricia’s voice snapped her back to the present. “You still there?” “Yeah. Yeah I’m here.” “So, what are you going to do?” Rowena closed her eyes and saw the e-mail. “I don’t know yet.” *** Rowena woke to the sounds of squealing and the landline ringing. She rolled over and tried to ignore

both. The phone rang at least twenty times before the idiot finally gave up. The squealing went on intermittently while she padded downstairs, grabbed the phone, and yanked the cord right out of the wall. The line snapped and sparked just once. The next morning she called the phone company and disconnected Aunt Loony’s service, then she went to Home Depot and bought the largest floor fan she could find. The kid who rang it up for her asked if she’d let his friend take a picture of them together because otherwise no one would believe he’d actually met Rowena Sommers. He had blond hair and blue eyes like Van, and all she could think about were those kisses and that e-mail. She picked up her credit card receipt and her fan, and left the store without answering the kid’s question. Once she was back in Aunt Loony’s parlor, she glanced at the list of things she’d found wrong in the house. It was growing every day. She had no choice. The house needed work and she needed a contractor. The idea of strangers tearing it apart didn’t sit well. Jake and Tricia were right, as usual. Van was the best person for this job. She’d simply stay out of his way. After dealing with Brett and his nonsense all those years, keeping away from Van Whitney and his blue eyes and muscles should be a piece of cake.

*** Van answered his cell without looking at the caller ID. It was Rowena. He almost dropped the phone and the hammer he was holding in his other hand. “Hey. How are you?” “I’m fine, thanks.” Her voice was clipped and professional. How would he ever look her in the eyes again? “When can you start?” “What?” “I’m hiring you. When can you start?” He’d never expected to hear from her again after the other night. “Um, give me a week or so. I’ll call you with a firm start date.” “Fine.” “Rowena, thank you. I promise you won’t regret this.” “I hope not.” He stared at the phone for a long time after she ended the call. What the hell had he just gotten himself into?

Chapter Six Van knew he couldn’t avoid Rowena once his crew began work. There were too many issues he had to discuss with her. She was the homeowner, after all. He’d be working closely with her for at least three months, and they couldn’t just pretend The Kiss hadn’t happened. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it, and he wouldn’t rest easy until he’d had a chance to explain. He and two of his crew, Jason Monroe and Larry Wilson, were poring over plans spread out on the kitchen table. Van wanted to start with the electrical since Rowena said there were so many outlets not working. Jason was his electrical specialist, and the two were discussing the best way to replace all the wiring, room by room, when Rowena walked into the kitchen. She was dressed in lavender capris and a gauzy top that showed off her breasts. Their eyes met, and he was suddenly grateful for the table in front of his crotch. Every detail of The Kiss played itself in his mind. “I’ll be out of your way in a second,” she said, opening the fridge. “You’re not in our way. I see you got rid of the

rotary phone.” “I had the service disconnected last week.” Next to him, Larry cleared his throat. Van wanted to kick him under the table. He hadn’t said a word to his crew about The Kiss, but they weren’t blind. “What’s the plan?” she asked, nodding toward the table. The sound of hammers on the roof made him glance at the ceiling “That noise must be bothering Snowball,” he said. “She’ll be all right.” They stared at each other until Larry cleared his throat again and Van found his one functioning brain cell. “We need to replace the wiring first. We’ll do it room by room and put in temporary drywall patches as we go.” She nodded. “Whatever you think is best.” The air in the room felt charged, like lightning was about to strike. “I’ll leave you to work.” He listened to her footsteps on the stairs, then stared at the plans on the table. How the hell would he ever get through this? *** Rowena couldn’t concentrate with the pounding on the roof. This was a huge mistake. She should have

taken Van’s advice and found another place to stay while they worked. Even worse than the noise on the roof was seeing him in her kitchen with two of the exfootball player assholes who’d been in on that bet. There would be more of them in her house starting tomorrow, for months. She’d been crazy to think she could handle this. Only this time the angst wasn’t due to a nasty prank in high school. This time she’d thrown herself at him, knowing full well they were on their way to making hot monkey love on Aunt Loony’s sofa. Closing her laptop, she went out to the front porch. Maybe some fresh air would clear her head. Was she really so pathetic she’d let herself get used again? Sex would mean nothing to him. Cathy Hill and Judy Thompson, mother of excheerleader Denise Thompson, sat on Cathy’s porch. Rowena contemplated going over to talk to them but decided against it. Her encounters in town hadn’t been welcoming to this point. Quite the opposite. The women looked at her like she’d slept with every actor in Hollywood, and the guys looked at her like she’d been on the cover of Hustler. Not exactly the homecoming she’d expected. Two weeks and not one neighbor had stopped over to say hello. Her cell rang. She ignored it. If it was Brett again, she’d change the number. He’d called every day since she left LA, and every call was the same. Rowena told

him to fuck off and he told her he wouldn’t give up that easily. The calls chained her to a life she desperately wanted to put behind her. Bobby Malcolm came out on the porch to tell Rowena they were turning off the power for a while. She retrieved her laptop and asked Van to keep her bedroom door closed so Snowball wouldn’t escape. As she drove to the library, she recalled the first time she saw Brett. Their eyes literally met across a pool, just like a love scene from some sappy movie. He lived a charmed life. Before she could think straight, she’d been caught up in the glamour and pageantry of belonging to an elite group whose lives others envied. Two years passed before she was able to admit the fairy tale prince would commit to their relationship only when it was convenient for him, and when he went on location he got more action than James Bond on Viagra. She’d never had his heart. A blaring car horn snapped her back to the present. She waved to the gesturing driver behind her as she pulled away from the green light. The library loomed ahead, but instead of pulling into the parking lot she circled the block a few times, debating. There had to be a Starbucks or a Panera Bread or someplace with Wi-Fi, but the thought of spending the day amidst noisy conversation was even less appealing than facing Molly Simpson, head librarian, and

biggest gossip in town. Probably in the county, for that matter. She chose a parking spot under a tree and checked her cell. It wasn’t Brett who’d called. Her pulse raced as she hit Send. “Toni, did you get the designs I e-mailed?” “Rowena, they’re gorgeous. You’re a lifesaver. When can you come downtown to iron out the details?” “Oh, I’m so happy you like them. I wasn’t sure if you were serious about your offer.” “Are you kidding? They’re amazing. And the timing couldn’t be more perfect.” Rowena listened to the sound of pages being turned. “How about Thursday around eleven? That way we can have lunch.” “I’ll be there with more designs.” Rowena let out a yell and pumped her fists in the air. She had a gig. A real one. Not the masquerade working on low-budget films for friends of Brett had turned out to be. Her days of being blackballed by him and his cronies were over. She strolled into the library wearing a smile so big her jaw started to ache. Even Molly Simpson wouldn’t be able to ruin this day.

Van tossed trash into the Dumpster as he watched Rowena park the Infinity and spring up the front walk, her smile wide and her eyes bright. Even her hair beamed. “Looks like you had another good day.” Why the hell had he said anything? He sounded like a jealous kid. She’d left the house before ten every day this week, carrying her laptop bag, and returned around four, smiling and bouncy. She glanced around and sidled up to him, wafting musky perfume his way. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered. His heart sank as an image of her draped over some guy popped into his head. “Sure.” Larry chose that moment to walk out onto the front porch, whistling the theme from some sitcom. “Hey boss, we need to move the cat into another room.” “Oh, I’ll take care of that,” said Rowena, breezing past him. “Thanks,” said Van, glaring at his crew member. Larry frowned, shrugged, then went back into the house. Van didn’t see her again until they quit work for the day. He made lame excuses to hang around until his crew finally left. “So, what’s the secret?” he asked, half-hoping she wouldn’t tell him.

“What? Oh. Remember I told you Toni Fleming has her own design studio now, and that she made contact with a producer in New York?” He nodded. “Well, it’s official now. I’m working for her. Freelance stuff. I won’t own a share in the studio or anything, but she’s paying me.” “That’s fantastic.” He was so relieved it wasn’t what he’d imagined, he decided to take a chance. If he didn’t get this out in the open, he’d go nuts. “Do you have time this evening to talk?” Her face went all deer-in-the-headlights. “Um, sure.” His heart sank at the look in her eyes, but then he had a rare stroke of genius. “Let’s go out to dinner. That way we can still talk, but won’t feel awkward being alone in the house.” She blushed. “Van, it’s not that I feel awkward.” “Rowena, it’s OK. I understand. But there are things I need to say.” Her eyes filled with skepticism. “OK. But I want to go somewhere outside of town.” He grinned. “I know just the place. Give me half an hour to run home and change.” ***

After Rowena fixed her hair and makeup, she paced the kitchen. What did he want to talk about? Well, that night two weeks ago, for sure. It had been hanging in the air like a storm cloud every time they looked at each other. Everything he’d said to her since then, every lingering look she’d caught was evaluated against what had happened that night. She’d kept herself busy with the designs, but every afternoon when she returned to the house, she wondered if she should say something to him. Now she’d have her chance. Instead of being relieved it would finally be out in the open, she was more nervous than she’d ever been. The sound of tires on the brick driveway sent her scurrying to the front door, where she met him on the porch steps. The sight of him in jeans and a charcoal Henley that hugged his torso and showed off his muscles caused a rush of warmth throughout her body. He held out a Hallmark bag. “I’ve been meaning all week to give you this.” She stared at it. “It’s a housewarming gift.” He looked like a little boy who’d just handed his first grade crush a pretty leaf or a seashell, not quite sure his gift was the appropriate thing to offer, but hoping she’d adore it. Her heart thawed a bit. “Thank you, Van.” She opened the bag and

pulled out a large jar candle. Even before she took off the lid she knew what she’d smell. Lilacs. Oh my. Her heart melted a bit more. When she looked into his eyes she had to fight an impulse to kiss him. He knew what the smell of lilacs meant to her. “Van, I don’t know what to say.” “I’m glad you like it.” Only the sound of voices across the street snapped her attention away from those eyes. “Let me put this inside before we go.” She didn’t speak until he was on the freeway, heading east toward Cleveland. “So, where are we going?” He grinned. “It’s a surprise.” “You do remember that I’m not crazy about surprises?” “I remember.” She looked out the window and smiled at the lights on the river, shocked to be enjoying, for once, the heady feeling of anticipation. Just for good measure, she took out her cell phone and put it on silence. She didn’t want Brett interrupting this evening. Or Jake or Tricia, for that matter. He exited the freeway at South Marginal Road and turned left, toward Lakewood, where there were plenty of cozy restaurants to choose from. So far, so good. When he drove into Lakewood Park she turned in her seat to face him. “I thought we were going to

dinner.” He looked sheepish. “We are, but not at a restaurant.” He glanced sideways. “Is that all right?” “I don’t know yet.” He pulled into a parking spot. “I’m guessing you didn’t hang out here much,” he said. “Not really. It was a popular place in school but not for dinner.” Embarrassment passed over his chiseled features. “Rowena, we’re not kids. I didn’t bring you here to watch submarine races.” She couldn’t help laughing. The idea of him bringing her to a public park just to make out was ludicrous, considering they had an entire house at their disposal. “All right. I deserved that. So now what?” He opened his door, then sprinted around to open hers. “Now, we eat.” She followed him to the trunk where he pulled out a blanket and cooler. “I threw this together pretty fast, so I hope I didn’t forget anything.” “Are you kidding me? Van, I’m overwhelmed. This is so unexpected.” The grin was back. “I was going for unexpected.” He reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s find a spot without horny teenagers.” She choked back a laugh. “Good luck.” They found an empty picnic table near the

lakeshore. Rowena watched him pull out paper plates, plastic utensils, a roll of paper towels, and a corkscrew. Following that he produced a bottle of white wine, and several Tupperware containers. “Like I said, this was thrown together, so it’s probably not what you’re used to.” “Oh, right. Because you know I eat at five-star restaurants every night. There are so many in Creek Ridge.” He chuckled. “Touché.” He began to open the containers. “We have chicken salad sandwiches and peanut butter and jelly. To pretend we’re eating healthy, we also have carrots and celery sticks. And of course, dessert.” He pulled out a bag of chocolate chip cookies then reached for the corkscrew. He poured them each a glass of wine and raised his. She did the same. “What shall we drink to?” His gaze was intense, searching. “To letting go of the past.” A rush of warmth spread through her limbs, and the last piece of ice fell from her heart.

Chapter Seven Van straddled the picnic bench so he was facing Rowena. “Do you want any more wine?” He held up the bottle. She shook her head. “If I drink more than two glasses, I get silly and uninhibited.” He grinned, watching a flush creep up her neck. “You walked right into that one, you know.” “Um, let me try that again. No, thank you, Van. I will not have more wine. Two is my limit. Better?” He realized he hadn’t seen her smile this much since childhood. It made him feel all warm inside to know this impromptu dinner had something to do with it. But now that they’d eaten and made small talk, it was time to talk about The Kiss. His palms began to sweat, and the stem of his wine glass was suddenly slippery. He placed the glass on the table before he dropped it. “Rowena, I owe you a huge apology.” She swallowed hard then shifted to face him, her eyes no longer filled with doubt. That was good. “For two things,” he continued. “First, I don’t even know how to say this. What I did to you all those years ago…that ridiculous bet.” She took his hands. He swore the electric spark

was visible this time. Could have been the wine, but he didn’t think so. “I’m so sorry, Rowena. I would do anything to be able to take all that back.” “Thank you,” she whispered, blinking several times. Her lashes were wet. Good Lord. If she cried, he’d have to hug her, and if he did that, he’d never be able to maintain control. He’d kiss her into next week. “That’s all I meant that night when I asked if we could move past all that. I was asking you to forgive me. I just did a lousy job of it.” She pulled her hands away and wiped one across her cheek. “I guess we have to talk about that night, don’t we?” “I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did,” he said. She shook her head before he finished the sentence. “I kissed you, remember?” He grinned. “It would be kind of hard to forget, Rowena.” She looked at the bench. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I wasn’t upset about the kissing. It’s what you said afterward.” “I’m sorry for that too.” She glanced around the park and he followed her gaze. The sun was setting over Lake Erie, painting the sky orange and purple. The water shimmered like diamonds. Near the shore, a couple lounged on a blanket. At the next picnic table a family with small

kids gathered the remains of their feast. When he looked into her eyes again, she was studying his face. “What are you thinking?” he asked. “I’m thinking how I feel about you just got a lot more complicated.” A small flicker of hope began to grow, like a tiny flame in a dark tunnel, too far away to touch but there, nonetheless. “You hurt me in school. Badly. This is hard to say because we were friends before that. After I found out about the bet, I didn’t like you. I hated you, actually. I also hated that you used all those girls so casually, until I realized they didn’t care either. After that I pretty much hated all of you for the way you were. So shallow and cruel.” Should he tell her how much he loathed the person he used to be? Would he ever be able to show her how much he’d changed since then? “So when you made that quip about how I wasn’t like that in high school,” she continued, “I figured nothing had changed. I’m still not sure what to think.” He nodded. “I get that. You haven’t been here for ten years. In your mind I’m still the football player who screws around.” “Exactly.” He wasn’t ready to tell her everything. He couldn’t. But he would tell her one thing. Just one.

After another glass of wine.

Rowena pushed away her wine glass. She felt woozy but it was important to keep a clear head tonight, and to keep her hormones firmly in check. First the candle and now these apologies. The evening had taken a few unexpected, and quite pleasant, turns. She wanted to believe he’d changed. Small laugh lines played at the corners of his eyes and tiny furrows creased both sides of his mouth. A handsome face. Older than the teenage face she remembered, but with more character now. She wasn’t ready to jump into another relationship, but there was no denying the physical attraction between them. As she watched him drink she remembered the feel of her tongue inside that mouth, and suppressed a moan. Yeah, hormones are firmly in check. He set his glass on the table and took her hands in his. They were warm and comforting. “You asked what happened between me and Cheryl Larson.” The finger he ran along the back of her hand sent little thrills straight up her arm. “We responded to a structure fire one night at an apartment building on Portage Street. All the units were involved by the time we arrived. One of the tenants had been making

pipe bombs in his apartment.” He took a deep breath before continuing. His hands went cold suddenly. She had a bad feeling about this. “Among the people standing outside was Cheryl, my wife, in nothing but a man’s shirt.” “Oh God.” “In Peter Templeton’s shirt.” “Your football coach? Holy shit.” “Yeah. My sentiments exactly. She was supposed to be out with friends in Cleveland. Turns out she was supposed to be out with friends a lot during our short marriage.” “I’m so sorry.” She’d never tell him this, but she’d wondered if his marriage broke up because he cheated on Cheryl, not the other way around. “Are you really surprised?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What do you mean?” “What’s that you said the day you moved in? Leopards don’t change their spots. I guess I thought she’d view marriage the same way I did. A chance to grow up and settle down. I was mistaken.” “I don’t know what to say.” He’d known Cheryl might not stay faithful and he married her anyway. He must have loved her. Rowena understood that. She’d put up with a lot of nonsense from Brett for years because deep down, she believed he loved her. “That’s not the worst part,” he said. “Turns out a

lot of people knew about it and never told me.” “Why not?” He shrugged. “Guess they figured I got what I deserved for marrying someone like her, you know?” “No. That’s not right. No one deserves that.” His gaze was intense. “No, they don’t. And you didn’t deserve it either from Brett Fontaine.” Rowena shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about Brett right now. “Did you love Cheryl?” she asked. He squirmed. “Love. Now there’s an interesting word.” He picked up the wine glass and drained it. “Right about the time you left for California, Cheryl’s brother was helping me study for the firefighter exam. I finally passed it a year later. Then Cheryl and I got married.” “When I left you were two years out of high school and still playing around. What made you decide to get married?” If they were going to talk about the past, she might as well ask all the questions clamoring for attention. “Look, I know she treated you like dirt.” “Why did you marry her, Van?” She didn’t want to talk about the way Cheryl Larson and her friends had treated her. It was time to move forward. He stroked the back of her hand again, but the thrill was gone. The mental image of Van saying “I do” to Cheryl Larson cast a chilly pall over the

evening. “This is probably difficult for you to believe, but she said she loved me, and I believed her. I thought this was my chance to do something other than wallow in self-pity because I didn’t have a chance to play college ball.” She nodded. “OK. But it seems like a flimsy excuse to marry someone. Unless you loved her too.” He let out a loud exhale. “I know. I agree with you, if that helps at all. I made a mistake.” He hadn’t actually answered the question. Daylight was nearly gone. She glanced toward the parking lot where a steady stream of headlights was snaking its way into the park. “I have a feeling it’s going to get a bit crowded here.” She helped him pack up the remnants of their picnic. “I’m sorry,” he said, settling into the driver’s seat. “For what?” “For everything.” His voice was heavy, defeated. “Van, we both have things in our past we wish we could change.” He looked into her eyes for a long moment, until a car horn blared, and they both jumped. Headlights blinded them. Voices and laughter rang out. Van swore under his breath and started the engine. The lights on the river didn’t seem as bright and colorful as they had on the drive over. Questions sprang to her lips, but she shot each one down as she

tried to analyze her feelings. One word, the letters a sickly green, floated up again and again, but she shot that down too, not wanting to admit the truth. She was jealous. Cheryl Larson had been the ringleader of every nasty joke and hurtful nickname visited on Rowena all through school, starting with the glue and glitter incident in second grade. That had been an accident, completely unintentional. The second and third grade classes were working together on decorations for the upcoming Holiday Program, and Rowena had been goofing around with her best friends, Traci Westphall and Beth Williams. A slight flick of her wrist while holding some ribbons adorned with glitter and fresh glue, nothing more. How was she supposed to know the concoction would stick to Cheryl’s hair, or that some of it would fall off her head and land on her new cashmere sweater? Who in their right mind buys a cashmere sweater for a third grader? The idea of her married to Van, sharing a life, sharing a bed, sharing his name, made her ill. How could he have married such a shallow, mean person? Unless he’d been that shallow and mean himself? Well, look what he did to you simply to win a bet. Shallow and mean, yes. But he said he’d changed. The image of him shoving Trace Coleman in the driveway rose in her mind, followed by the candle

he’d given her, sitting on the dining room table right now. She’d left it open so the scent of lilacs would fill the house once again. Would the Van Whitney of high school fame have done those things? No. Not a chance. His voice snapped her back to the present. “I didn’t love her.” “What?” She turned to face him. “I didn’t love her. I just wanted to settle down. Try to live a respectable life.” “Did she know you didn’t love her?” He shook his head. “No.” He glanced at her quickly. “I never cheated on her, Rowena. I would have stayed faithful.” “I believe you.” She did. The truth was in his eyes and his voice. He cleared his throat. “What about you?” A stab of adrenaline shot through her. “What about me?” “Brett Fontaine. Did you love him?” She stared at the lights in the houses, speeding past as they raced along Interstate 71. “I thought I did, yes.” “Why did you let him treat you like that for so long? Or did the gossip magazines make some of that up?” Now there’s a million dollar question if ever there was one. Why indeed? “They didn’t make it up.” “So why then?”

“I was barely twenty-one when I met him, Van. He dazzled me. I thought he’d come to his senses one day.” “When did you realize he wouldn’t?” She made a noise that was half laugh, half disgust. “The day I found out he’d hacked into my email account and forwarded a bunch of altered private conversations to key people.” Van didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Their exit loomed ahead. He turned off the freeway and drove down Center Ridge Road before he finally spoke. “I always wondered how much of that was true.” “All of it was true.” “Why did he do it?” “I got tired of him tomcatting around and told him to make a choice.” “Ouch. Guess he made his choice clear.” “Yeah. He couldn’t have given me a more definitive answer than that, eh?” “Rowena, I’m so sorry.” They stopped at a red light. The sincerity in his eyes forced her to blink back tears. “Sounds like we both believed in someone who screwed us.” She nodded, not trusting her voice. The light turned green. “Is that when you filed suit?” he asked. “Yes, but first I took Snowball and moved in with

Tricia and Derrick.” “Friends of yours?” “Yes. Tricia and Derrick Leebrooke. I met her when I first moved to LA. They would have let me stay with them for good if I’d wanted to. They’re the best friends I’ve ever had.” He looked at her incredulously. “Derrick Leebrooke, as in the director?” “He’s a really nice guy. You’d like him. Actually you’d like them both.” “Well, gee, then maybe you should have them over for dinner.” She laughed at the look on his face. “Van, they’re just people.” “Sure, sure they are. Just folks.” His heart-stopping grin made her want to reach over and run her fingers through his hair. Or touch his face. Or his arms. Or legs. Or whatever. Yep. Hormones firmly in check. Not. He pulled into the driveway, put the car in park, and looked into her eyes. She hadn’t felt this awkward since their first date, wondering if he’d kiss her as they stood on her parents’ front porch. She’d never told him that was her first real kiss. The quick brush of lips from Dale Westphall when they were in third grade didn’t count. Dale had barely said two words to her the rest of the school year. “I had a wonderful evening, Rowena.”

“Me too. Thank you for the picnic.” She smiled. “Better than any five-star restaurant in Creek Ridge.” He laughed softly, reaching over to gently stroked her hair. She bit her lip to keep from moaning. “I’ve always loved your hair. I never told you that.” No, you didn’t. “Thank you.” In the dim light she watched several emotions cross his face. “The Corn Festival starts next weekend.” “They still have that?” “Of course. What else are they going to do with all that empty park land?” “Are you going?” she asked. He cut his eyes to a spot over her shoulder for a second. “I was sort of hoping you’d go with me.” Oh, wow. All sorts of reasons why going out with Van in this town would be a very bad idea flitted through her mind, starting with the fact she’d caught a glimpse of Cathy Hill and Judy Thompson sitting on Cathy’s front porch when Van pulled into the driveway. Right now they were probably watching, cell phones at the ready. “Are you sure you want to do that, Van?” It was the best question she could come up with. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “That’s a loaded question. Do you want the short answer, or

the long one?” “Both.” He turned off the motor and settled into his seat. “OK. Short answer, yes I’m sure. Long answer, people eventually get bored with the gossip and move on, Rowena. I probably sound ridiculous saying this to you, but I’ve had my share too.” “I’m not sure mine is over. My reception in town hasn’t exactly been welcoming.” He frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “I’m just saying I don’t want to drag you into anything. You have a business to run.” He nodded. “You know what’s funny? I was thinking the same thing the day you moved in.” “Not following you.” “Rowena, I would like a chance to get to know you again, without all the drama of high school mucking it up.” Oh boy. Major hormone rush. Here it comes. “Are you willing to take the chance your face will end up on the front of a magazine?” He grinned. “It’s you they’re interested in, not me.” “Either you’re being terribly naive or you really don’t understand what lengths those rag mags will go to.” The grin disappeared. “At least consider it then, OK?”

He wasn’t making this easy at all. “OK. I’ll consider it. For now, I’d better get inside,” Exiting his car was the only way to fight the urge to drag him upstairs and kiss him into oblivion. “We’re putting on quite a show for my neighbors across the street.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “What?” “Cathy Hill and Judy Thompson. They’re on her front porch.” “So?” “So I don’t trust either of them.” She told him about her conversation with Cathy Hill. “She can’t hurt you. And Judy Thompson has always worried about everyone else’s business.” “I hope you’re right.” She opened the door, her willpower hanging on by a thread. “Good night, Van. Thank you again.” She ran up to the fourth floor of the tower and watched his taillights until he turned a corner and she could no longer see them.

Chapter Eight “Hey, boss?” Larry poked his head into the dining room where Van and Felix Santiago were poring over plumbing schematics. “Jason and Darrell found something behind the wall back here.” Van fought the urge to roll his eyes. Almost two weeks into this project and they still weren’t done with the electrical and plumbing because half his crew members were on perpetual treasure hunts. So far they’d found what appeared to be original blueprints, although those had actually come in handy, and the predicted amount of mold behind the walls. Not exactly gold doubloons. In the bedroom, Jason Monroe and Darrell Simpson were examining what looked like a small fireproof box. The kind people might store documents like birth certificates or tax returns in. “What’s in it?” asked Van. “Don’t know,” said Jason, using a towel to dust it off. He fiddled with the small padlock. “Did her aunt leave any small keys laying around?” “I have no idea. Where did you find that?” Van took a step closer. “Behind the wall,” said Darrell. “I’ll ask her to look for a key,” said Van, reaching

for the box. “Can you call her now?” asked Jason. Van frowned. “Why is it so important, Jason?” He took the box. “You have wiring to finish in here, right?” Jason glared at him. What the hell was that about? “She isn’t paying us to hunt for things in this house. Get back to work.” About an hour after Jason and Darrell found the lockbox, Judy Thompson burst in the house, demanding to know if Rowena was home. Van heard her voice and walked into the foyer, where Judy was waving a magazine. “Where’s Rowena?” “Probably at the library.” Van planted his feet and eyed Judy, bracing for the onslaught. Her loathing of Van went back to eighth grade, when she’d practically called the cops after finding him in Denise’s room late one night. Sure, it had been ludicrous for them to think he could get away with spending the night, but Judy had reacted as though she’d found Denise tied up on the bed and Van bending over her with a kitchen knife. Her daughter had been a willing participant in the plan. Judy thrust the magazine at him. “Give this to her when she gets back.” Van took it from her outstretched hand. “Well?” Judy’s plump hands went to her ample hips, her eyes dark and shining, waiting for his reaction.

He didn’t have time for this. The magazine in his hands was this week’s Celebrity, and featured a picture of Rowena in court. She was dressed in a beige suit, a look of concentration furrowing her brow. Next to her sat a somber-looking man in a dark suit. Van assumed he was her attorney. “Did you see how much money she got from that Brett Fontaine? No wonder she can afford to fix up this place.” Van mentally counted to ten, but Judy didn’t disappear. That trick had never worked when he was a kid, so he didn’t know why he’d expected it to work now. “It’s none of my business.” He tried to give her back the magazine but she held up both hands. “I’m done with it. Keep it.” Bobby Malcolm’s voice boomed behind him. “Judy, is Denise OK? Is it one of the kids?” “They’re fine, Bobby. I was just showing Van this week’s Celebrity.” Judy sounded very proud of herself. Van handed it to Bobby. They’d all find out anyway. He watched Bobby scan the text, his lips moving. He’d gone from second-string quarterback at Ohio State to husband and father before he turned twenty-one. Now he and Denise had three kids, and Bobby hung drywall and soldered pipes for Van. “Wow.” He whistled. “Did you know she got this much?” he asked Van.

“It’s none of my business. Can we get back to work now?” Bobby had the grace to look guilty. Van tossed the magazine on the table. “We’re really busy, Judy.” Just after noon, Van noticed a black Mustang convertible cruise slowly past the house. He happened to be tossing some drywall into the Dumpster as it drove by. Trace Coleman had been driving one of those the day Rowena moved in. He watched out the windows for the next half hour, and sure enough the ’Stang drove past no less than four times. What the hell was going on today? Van hung around after the last of his crew left. Rowena still wasn’t home, but he didn’t want to leave without showing her the box they’d found. Plus, he still had an uneasy feeling about Trace Coleman driving past the house. He’d put the lockbox in his backseat after the car cruised by the third time. Had Trace read the article in Celebrity? A shiver ran through him. Rowena said her reception in town wasn’t exactly welcoming. How would they react when they read she’d won twenty million dollars in her settlement? Peanuts compared to some celebrity divorce settlements, but Rowena and Brett hadn’t been married. And twenty million dollars easily made her the town’s richest woman, and a target for anyone with less-than-scrupulous intentions. Like fake ghost hunters.

He took a seat in the wicker rocker to wait. Every reservation he’d had the day she moved in came crashing down. He’d thought her a Hollywood bitch who attracted gossip. She wasn’t a bitch at all, but the gossip wasn’t over by a long shot. She’d asked him if he was willing to take a chance at having his face on the cover of a magazine, and he told her they weren’t interested in him. Would that change if people thought they were dating? The sound of tires on the street had him hoping, but it wasn’t her car. His cell phone said 6:27. Where was she? Maybe he should call, just to make sure she was all right? “Hi, Van. Is everything OK at the house?” He heard voices in the background. “Sure. Just wondered if you were all right.” “Honestly? I’m not doing very well. Did you happen to hear about the article in Celebrity?” He heard the pain in her voice. “Yes, I read it. The guys did too. Judy Thompson was kind enough to bring us a copy.” He hoped she caught the sarcasm. “That was so neighborly of her.” Yep, she’d caught it. If she were here right now he’d take her in his arms and make her forget about Judy Thompson and Celebrity. “Do you need to talk? I’m still at your house.” “Oh, that’s really kind of you. Thank you. I’m at

Toni’s. We were going over designs when her boyfriend Roger came in with a copy of the magazine. I was pretty upset, so they invited me to stay for dinner.” He smiled. “You have really great friends.” “I know. I wish I’d known you were still there. I would have called to let you know where I was.” “Rowena, it’s fine. You don’t have to tell me your schedule.” “It was a spur-of-the-moment invite. Otherwise I’d be home by now.” He walked toward his car. “Everything is fine. Enjoy your dinner.” “OK. Talk to you tomorrow.” *** Rowena took Friday off from working on designs because she decided to clean out two of the upstairs bedrooms. She made coffee for Van and his crew, then retreated upstairs as they began to arrive. Was it her imagination a few of them looked at her differently this morning? Van said they’d all read the article. Would it matter to them that her attorney got more than a third of that money? Probably not. Thirteen million dollars was more money than Van’s entire crew put together would ever see.

She started opening dresser drawers in the room Emma had stayed in after her first divorce. There wasn’t much to clear out in this room, so it wouldn’t take long. The other one would take a lifetime to clean out. It looked like Aunt Loony had stacked every book ever written into that room. Maybe she should simply turn it into a library? “Got a minute?” Van stood in the doorway holding a small box. “Sure.” He walked in and closed the door behind him. “How was dinner last night?” “Oh, it was all right. Toni ordered pizza.” He grinned. “Guess you weren’t kidding about not eating at five-star restaurants.” She gave him a half smile in return. The sting of the article was still fresh in her mind. It would take more than his smile to chase it away. He took a seat on the bed. “Rowena, I’m really sorry about the magazine article.” “Thanks.” “Do you want to talk?” She glanced toward the door as voices drifted in from the hallway. “Don’t you have to work?” “They’ll be all right without me for a few minutes.” She sat across from him. “It isn’t even the fact they printed the details of the settlement. Those are

public record. It’s how they made it sound. Like I took him to the cleaners for spite, and now I’m sitting on a beach in the South of France, spending the money. No mention of Aunt Loony’s death or this house or the fact that I’m still working. All they did was spit out public record and concoct a bullshit story around it.” “I know. I’m sorry. It’s what they do.” “Yes, but people take it as gospel truth.” She pointed to the box. “What’s that?” “Jason and Darrell found it yesterday, behind the wall in one of the downstairs bedrooms.” “What is it?” “I was hoping you could tell me.” “No idea.” She pulled on the padlock. “What was it doing hidden behind a wall?” “If you have a key that small we can find out.” “I haven’t had time to go through even one room and organize it. I wouldn’t know where to look for a key. Can’t we just break it off?” “Sure. I’ll go get some tools.” When he returned, he closed the door again. “Don’t want the guys to know what’s in the box?” she asked. “The guys are far too interested in what’s behind your walls. We’re already falling behind schedule.” He picked up a chisel and small hammer. “Van, I was wrong about them.”

“Huh?” He looked into her eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? He smelled like plaster dust and hard work, and for reasons she couldn’t even begin to explain, the combination sent her thoughts racing. The fact they were sitting on a bed didn’t help. “They’re working really hard from what I can tell,” she explained. “I imagined coming home every afternoon to find gaping holes in the walls and beer cans on the front lawn.” He grinned. “We toss them in the Dumpster before you get back.” She almost laughed. “Oh, that explains it then.” He gave the padlock a few good smacks, the metal sound bouncing off the walls, and the lock tumbled onto the quilt. “Ready?” he asked. They each put a hand on the box and opened it. She peered inside at the yellowed paper, partially concealed by what looked like torn up brown grocery bags, then lifted the stack of documents and spread them out on the bed. Van picked up a handful of certificates and began sifting through them. “Oh my God.” He read aloud. “Proctor & Gamble, Eaton, Goodyear.” “They’re stocks.” He looked at her, and she reeled back from the intensity of his gaze. “Yeah, from the 1920s. Rowena, these are worth a fortune today.”

“Whose are they?” He blinked a few times. “Ah, they’re in your walls, sweetheart. They’re yours.” “I mean who owned them originally?” “Who else lived here besides Aunt Loony and Uncle Cal?” She shook her head as she dug through the brown paper. “No one. But why did they put them in the wall? Why not just…oh holy Mother of God.” Rowena and Van stared at the stack of money in her hand, then at each other, then at the money again. “It can’t be real,” she said. He took the top bundle from her and gently pulled off the rubber band. It disintegrated, its pieces falling on top of the stock certificates. He peeled back the first one hundred dollar bill and held it up, turning it back and forth. “It’s old, but I have no idea if it’s real.” “Should we take it to a bank? They’d be able to tell.” Voices in the hall made her jump slightly. Van gathered up the money and certificates and stuffed them into the box. “I want you to get this out of the house,” he said quietly. Hot slivers of fear shot through her. “Why?” she whispered, her eyes cutting toward the door as the sound of boots on the stairs floated toward them. “I’d feel better if it wasn’t here.”

He started to slide off the bed but she grabbed his arm. “Tell me what’s going on.” His eyes bore into hers. “It’s too much temptation.” “For who? Sounds like you don’t trust your own crew, Van.” Had she been right all along? His face muscles relaxed a bit. “I just think you have enough to deal with right now, that’s all.” “Fine. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” “Today.” “I hadn’t planned to go out today.” “Then let me take it home for the weekend.” She scanned his face, looking for a clue behind the words, hating the thought that flitted through her mind. Either he didn’t trust his crew, or…but that was ridiculous. If he’d wanted to steal it he never would have shown it to her. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to freak you out. It’s just a lot of money to leave laying around.” “I understand.” He was right. “I’ll take care of it today, Van.” She rose from the bed, but his voice stopped her before she opened the door. “Have you given any more thought to the Corn Festival tonight?” Had she given any more thought to it? She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since he’d asked her to go with him. In fact, she’d been all set yesterday to tell

him she’d go. Up until Roger walked into Toni’s studio waving that freaking magazine. “Van, there’s no way. Did you read that article? The entire town knows. I’m afraid to go to the bank right now. In fact, I should drive into Cleveland to a different bank.” She held up the box. “Can you imagine if someone in town blabbed about this to Celebrity?” She blinked back tears and clutched the lockbox closer, wishing her hands would stop trembling. He was off the bed in two seconds, wrapping his arms around her. She inhaled Aramis, her favorite, and let herself relax into his strong arms. “It’ll be all right.” “How do you know?” “I don’t. But what are you going to do? Hide in this house forever?” That’s exactly what she’d done after Brett sent those e-mails. She hid with Tricia and Derrick, behind high brick walls and a killer security system. And she’d hated herself for doing so. She was the girl who left home at the tender age of eighteen to pursue a dream, in spite of strong opposition from her parents. No, strong opposition was an understatement. They’d spent the last ten years reminding her how much of a disappointment she was to them. She didn’t want to be a coward again. This was her hometown. Van was right. She wouldn’t hide in

this house. “OK. Let’s go to the Corn Festival tonight.” He grinned. “That was too easy. What’s the catch?” She kissed him on the cheek. “No catch.” He gently took the box from her hands and placed it on the nightstand, then took her face in his hands and kissed her. His lips moving over hers sent shivers through her entire body. Her hands went around his waist and she pulled him closer. He groaned and moved away. “OK, my bad. Not the time for this. Not if I expect to get any work done.” “You kissed me,” she said, putting her arms around him again. “I know, I know.” He ran a finger down her cheek, his eyes so tender she felt all melty. “And maybe later I’ll kiss you again. For real this time.” She grinned. “If I let you, that is.” “Tease.” The light in his eyes danced. “Get out of here.”

Chapter Nine Rowena changed into flat shoes and freshened up her hair and makeup while she waited for Van to return. He’d gone home to change his clothes and take a shower. Since the Festival was held in Oak Park, they only had to walk five hundred yards from her front porch. Her limbs tingled and twice she had to sit on the bed and catch her breath. It was ridiculous to feel so anxious. It was only a carnival. But this was different. They were going out. On a date. In town. Taking a seat in the wicker rocker, she watched her neighbors talking in small groups, or walking past on their way to the park. She missed warm evenings like this, when she’d usually hang out with Beth and Traci. If only Tricia lived closer. It was lonely without her. Toni and Roger had been wonderful last night, but when she got home it was Tricia she’d called. What if someone at the Corn Festival asked her about Brett or the settlement? Maybe she should switch off her brain, relax, and enjoy her evening with the hottest guy in town. When his Mercedes approached the house, several neighbors stopped talking to watch him pull

into the driveway. They’d be gossiping about this for weeks. It was one thing to talk about her, but she hated the thought of Van being dragged into the speculation. He was dressed in jeans and a dark blue Henley this time. Mmm, mmm. Forget the Corn Fest. She wanted to take him upstairs and see if the rest of his body was that muscular. “Ready?” he asked, that killer grin chasing away the last remnants of anxiety. “We have an audience,” said Van, under his breath. Rowena glanced across the street to find Cathy Hill and Judy Thompson watching them descend the porch steps. “Two thousand miles away and I’m still living in a fishbowl.” Rowena raised her hand and waved. “Going to the Corn Festival?” she called. “Maybe,” said Cathy. “Great. See you there.” Van chuckled under his breath, as they walked side by side. Van reached for her hand, tangling their fingers together. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” She smiled up at him. “It’s perfect.” Rowena took in the sounds and the sights of the crowd, enjoying the small-town atmosphere. Everyone here was so unaffected. They weren’t talking about their upcoming project, or trying to pitch an idea, or gushing about spending only nine

hundred dollars on a cashmere sweater at Loro Piana. The smell of funnel cakes and popcorn made her hungry. She and Van ate corn dogs, fried veggies, and cotton candy. They spent time looking over the craft tables, where Rowena bought a straw hat with silk lilacs and purple ribbons to hang on the wall in the foyer. When Van asked if she wanted to ride the Matterhorn or the Thunder Bolt, she patted her stomach. “Maybe later. I’d hate to puke on some kid.” “How about the Giant Wheel, then? It goes slow because they keep stopping it to let people on and off. I swear to you I’ve never puked on that ride.” Van rocked their car every time the ride stopped, and each time he did Rowena clutched the side, laughing. “If I fall out of this thing, I’ll kill you.” “If you fall out, you’ll be dead.” “Then I’ll come back and haunt you.” “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?” When she stuck out her tongue his eyes darkened. “You got away with that when you were eight, but not anymore. I have no choice. I have to do something about it.” Her clothes suddenly felt way too tight. “Oh really? Like what?” When he caressed her cheek, Rowena sighed at the tender look in his eyes. As the ride started again, he kissed her. Softly at first, almost tentatively, then deeply. She moved closer and put one hand on his

thigh. When he moaned she slipped her tongue inside his mouth. The music from the ride and the noise from the crowd melted away, and there was only Van. His lips and tongue moving over hers made her dizzy, and she never wanted him to stop stroking her hair. Every time his fingers brushed her skin, a fresh wave of hot desire swept through her. She moved her hand higher, enjoying the way his thigh muscles flexed under her touch. It would be so easy to keep going, all the way to the bulge in his pants. She inched her hand closer to his groin until screaming laughter rang out from the car above them. “Dude! She’s so fucking hot!” Van turned around and glared at the two teens. Rowena kept her eyes glued to her lap, digging her nails into her palms to keep from laughing. When the ride stopped again, Van lifted the safety bar, took her hand, and led her into the crowd. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled. “I’m not.” She stopped walking and he turned to face her, a look of surprise on his face, as if he’d expected her to be upset. They locked gazes for a long moment, then he pulled her close. “What have you done to me?” He spoke so softly she wasn’t sure he’d meant for her to hear. They walked among the 4-H displays, stopping at

a few, then turned around as someone called Van’s name. Becca Rawlings and Tiffany Fuentes, cheerleader bitches, strolled toward them, twin smiles on their tanned faces. Becca’s skin looked tired and blotchy, and whatever Tiffany had paid for that awful haircut was too much. They had the same hard, confident look in their eyes Rowena remembered. Becca’s gaze raked over Van, her lust unconcealed, and Rowena fought to catch her breath as memories overwhelmed her. “Well, look who’s here,” cooed Tiffany, fluttering her eyelashes at Van. Her gaze shot to Rowena and she frowned in confusion, then her jaw dropped. “I thought pictures in magazines were like, air-brushed or something? But you really look like that.” Rowena bit the inside of her cheek as Van squeezed her hand. Anything she said right now would be the wrong thing. She tried to push away the memories of high school, but they were so painful her chest began to ache. “Van, where’ve you been lately?” Becca pouted. “We haven’t seen you at the Saloon in forever.” Rowena flashed back to the scene in the hallway when Van leaned against the wall and Becca looked up into his eyes. The park started to spin and she had to take several deep breaths to make it stop. Van gave her hand a tighter squeeze and she clung to it as if it were a life raft.

“I’m not into that anymore,” he said. “Are you back for good?” Tiffany asked Rowena. “Yes.” Rowena wanted to run. She didn’t belong here. These were his friends, his crowd. They always had been and they always would be. She didn’t belong in his world. What the hell had she been thinking? Van let go of her hand and draped his arm around her. His strong, muscled arm that lifted drywall. It was warm and comforting. “She’s living in her Aunt Lunette’s house now. My company is restoring it.” “Really?” asked Becca, an evil grin on her face. “How interesting.” “Well, it was nice seeing you two,” said Van, leading Rowena past them. They’d taken a few steps when Becca’s voice rang out. “Rowena, what are you gonna do with all those millions from Brett Fontaine?” “Just keep walking,” whispered Van. “They’re not worth it.” She heard their laughter fade slowly, the way thunder does if you listen carefully. Her limbs began to tremble and Van steered her toward the edge of the parking lot, where they stopped next to a tall tree. “Are you OK?” he asked, concern in his beautiful eyes. “Not really.”

“They’re not worth it, Rowena.” She wanted to believe him, but he didn’t understand. It would always be like this. He hadn’t listened to the comments in the drug store when she walked past, or watched teenage boys gawk at her as they rang up her Tylenol and tampons. “Let’s go play some games, OK? It’ll be fun.” They held hands as they walked toward the gaming booths, where Van stopped in front of Football Challenge. “I’m really good at this. Want me to win something for you?” She looked over the stuffed animal prizes, gasping when she spotted a snow leopard. “I love those. They’re so beautiful. Did you know they live solitary lives, and can actually be scared away from livestock?” He grinned, and her heart fluttered. “No, I didn’t, but now that you’ve told me, I’m obligated. You shall have the snow leopard, my lady.” He bowed to her and she giggled. Van kept winning small prizes, which Rowena traded for larger ones. He hadn’t been exaggerating about his skill with the game. Forgetting all about Becca and Tiffany, Rowena watched Van, admiring his skill and concentration. She also admired the way his ass looked in those jeans, and the rippling muscles in his back and shoulders. By the time he was close to winning the snow leopard, the kid running the game

had sweat rolling down his cheeks and a small crowd had gathered to watch. They cheered and clapped when Van handed Rowena the snow leopard. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy. No one had ever won her a prize at a carnival or kissed her on the Ferris wheel or traded cotton candy with her when she didn’t like the flavor she had. And no one, certainly not Brett, aroused her like Van did. She thought it might have been a fluke that night in the parlor. Waking up to that awful squeal and finding the back door open, but no. Tonight was just as intense. His kisses made her want to throw caution to the wind and relive every wild fantasy she’d ever had. “They set off fireworks at ten,” he said, checking his watch. “We still have an hour. What would you like to do next?” “Why don’t we go back to the house and watch them from the tower? We used to do that as kids, remember?” He smiled and nodded. “I sure do. That’s a great idea.” They walked toward the park entrance, Van’s arm across her shoulder, and had almost made it to the gate when someone called her name. She turned, and a stab of fear shot through her. Two men sprinted toward them, and one of them

carried a camera and a microphone.

Van held up his hand. “That’s far enough.” The man holding the camera and microphone stopped, but the other one continued advancing, his fake smile showing dazzling white teeth. “I don’t believe it,” said Rowena. “Miss Sommers, your house is—” “Are you hard of hearing, Mr. Coleman? I already told you no.” Rowena took a step toward him and Van grinned. She looked like a lioness, about to fend off the idiot animal that dared threaten her territory. The fact she was cradling a stuffed leopard enhanced rather than distracted from the image. Trace’s smile faded, but he didn’t back away from Rowena’s firm stance and piercing eyes. “The people have a right to know the truth about your house.” “You can tell the people that I don’t believe in ghosts.” She turned her back on him and Van followed, wondering how he’d missed this side of her before. He liked it. A lot. “Your house is haunted, Rowena. And very soon you’ll have to admit that—” Trace Coleman didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence because Van was in his face, one hand

pushing against his chest. “Now you listen to me, ass wipe. The lady said no. That’s the opposite of yes. And if you ever threaten her again—” “I didn’t threaten her.” Trace sounded exactly like the bullies on the playground who backed down as soon as their bluff was called. “It sounded like one to me. Don’t let it happen again. Are we clear?” Trace grinned, shrugged and walked away. Van watched him for a while, making up his mind to call Denny Trowers, his detective friend in Cleveland. “I don’t trust him.” “He can’t do anything to me.” She took his hand. “Let’s go. I’ve got a bottle of wine waiting for us.” Fireworks, wine, and Rowena. Who could say no to that? Snowball greeted them at the side door and followed them into the kitchen, where Rowena put the snow leopard on a chair. She scratched under Snowball’s chin and rummaged through the drawers, looking for a corkscrew. “Here it is. I think the glasses are in that top cabinet.” Van found the glasses, and watched Rowena open the bottle of Shiraz like a pro. “You’ve done that before.” She smiled. “Haven’t you?” “Is the cat coming up to the tower with us?”

“Would that bother you?” “I don’t know. That depends on what you intend to do with me up there.” She laughed, and he thought she blushed, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. “I was thinking of holding you for ransom.” “I’m OK with that.” The blood left his brain as he watched her hips move under the capris. He wouldn’t refuse her anything tonight. All she had to do was ask. “Will you take the wine up?” she asked, handing him the bottle when they reached the second floor. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He climbed the narrow staircase to the top floor, grateful that Snowball had chosen to stay behind with Rowena. It wasn’t that he hated her cat, but he still remembered her untimely interruption in the parlor. He didn’t want a repeat. The room had no furniture, and he was about to call down and ask her to bring up a blanket, when she walked through the door carrying a thick comforter and the candle he’d given her, already lit. She was barefoot, and he nearly groaned out loud. There was something irresistible about a woman in bare feet with painted toenails. “Where’s your feline companion?” he asked. “She decided she’d be more comfortable on my bed.”

So would we. She spread the comforter on the floor then opened the windows. Faint sounds from the carnival drifted in with the night breeze. The windows up here were floor-to-ceiling, but since no other building for miles was this tall, the neighbors wouldn’t be able to see them. An image of them naked on the floor filled his mind, and he almost dropped the bottle. He poured their wine as she joined him, sitting cross-legged on the blanket. “What shall we drink to?” he asked. “To possibilities.” Good Lord. “I’ll drink to that.” He put his glass on the floor and looked into her eyes. Candlelight did amazing things to a woman’s face, not that Rowena needed any help to look beautiful. She played with a loose thread on the blanket. “Van, doesn’t all that stuff in the tabloids bother you?” “It bothers me because it upsets you so much.” “What about the things Becca and Tiffany said tonight?” He drained his wine glass and filled it again. “They’re idiots. I’d rather be with you. Give us a chance, Rowena.”

Rowena thought about all the things he’d done for her this evening, from glaring at the boys on the Ferris wheel to chasing Trace Coleman away. He’d gone out of his way to make tonight special, and to protect her. He’d been doing that, in fact, since the day she moved in. The lilac candle filled their space with fragrance and light. He’d picked it out because he knew how much this house and the smell of lilacs meant to her. How much Aunt Loony had meant to her. He won the snow leopard because she wanted it. No other reason. She blinked back tears. The gestures were simple, uncomplicated, yet they were more meaningful than any of the jewelry or expensive gifts Brett had lavished on her could ever be. No man had ever made her feel this special. When the fireworks started, she scooted next to him and put her arm around his waist. His body was warm, and he smelled like outdoors and cotton candy. She breathed it in, letting go of the events that had hurt her tonight. Trace Coleman couldn’t harm her. Becca and Tiffany weren’t here with Van, she was. She snuggled closer. The fireworks were spectacular. They’d spared no expense this year. There were multicolored ones and the kind that changed shape in the air. She

remembered all the times she and Jake and Van crowded up here with their siblings and friends. The room had no A/C, and felt close and small with so many people in it, but that had never mattered to them. Fireworks were meant to be shared. His arm slipped off her shoulder and made a slow descent to her waist, sending a shock wave of desire through her so strong it made her dizzy. Or was that the wine? Either way, she wanted him. Right here and now. She nuzzled his neck, flicking her tongue against his warm, salty skin. When he moaned softly, she slid her hand up his thigh to the bulge in his pants. Wine had always made her bold. “Oh, God.” He covered her mouth with a deep, rough kiss. As his tongue circled hers, she stroked him in long, slow brushes until she felt his muscles quiver and heard his breathing grow ragged. “Rowena…please.” She pulled off her top in one fluid motion, then reached over to free his shirt from his jeans and lift it over his head. The candlelight cast deep shadows on the muscles in his chest and abs. He was absolutely perfect, like one of those Greek god statues. As she ran her hands lightly over him, tracing the curve of each rippling muscle, he reached between her arms and unclasped her bra.

“A front loader. Nice.” She giggled and tossed the bra aside. “Oh my God, you are so beautiful.” He tangled his fingers in hers and gently pushed her backward until she lay on the comforter, looking up into his intense eyes. “Rowena, I want to make love to you. Please say yes.” No one had ever asked. Tears sprang to her eyes before she could blink them away this time. So many emotions competed for control that she was overwhelmed and sent them all packing. “Yes,” she whispered. “But hang on a sec.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a condom, placing it on the blanket next to her. Van’s eyes widened. “Do you always carry one with you?” She laughed. “No, but I was hoping.” He covered her mouth again. The sensation of his hot skin against her bare breasts nearly made her climax. She arched her hips, looking for release, and found his thigh. His hands tangled in her hair as she moved against his leg. Soft moans escaped the back of her throat, and the more she rubbed the deeper his kisses became. When he lowered his mouth to her neck, covering it with tiny bites, she convulsed in an orgasm that competed with the firework finale. She couldn’t tell where the explosions in the park ended,

and where the ones in her body began. “Oh, Jesus. Did you just come?” “Mmm, sure did, but don’t you worry. There’s plenty more where that came from.” “Rowena, you’re so sexy.“ She caressed his cheek, then took his hand and placed it over her left breast. “You’re amazing, too, Van. Better than I ever imagined.” He cupped both breasts and moaned, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. She wanted her pants off but she didn’t want to interrupt him, especially when his mouth covered one nipple, taking in the surrounding skin as well. She cried out as he suckled her, first one then the other, alternating between teasing her with his tongue and fingers. Another orgasm was so close she could taste it, and when he ran his tongue down her belly to the front of her pants and took the damp fabric into his mouth, the dam broke. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, fumbling at the front of his jeans. “I can’t help it,” she gasped. “This is what you do to me.” She reached up and undid the button on his jeans, then slid the zipper down to discover red boxers. “Nice. You wear these every day?” He grinned. “I was sort of hoping, too.” She helped him slip off his jeans, then while he removed his shoes she reached under his shorts to

gently massage his balls. He groaned and reached for her capris, unfastening them and sliding them over her hips. A soft groan escaped as he traced the outline of her black thong with one finger. “Hope you like the shaved look,” she whispered. “Uh, yeah. Definitely.” He ran his hands slowly down her legs, gently pushing them apart as she sighed and tangled her hands in his soft hair. He kissed and licked the inside of her thighs, moving closer to the center each time, until he slid the narrow piece of fabric aside and slipped one long finger inside her. She cried out and lifted her hips off the ground. He teased gently at first, flicking his tongue over her clit, then slipped another finger inside. His tongue and mouth became more insistent, licking and sucking, while his fingers matched their rhythm inside her. He brought her to a third climax so intense she thought she’d pass out from sheer pleasure. Only after it ended did he slip off her thong and remove his boxers. She wanted to touch him, wanted to take him into her mouth, but she could barely breathe. He was beautiful. Long, thick, and throbbing. She watched him slide the condom on, mesmerized, then closed her eyes and held her breath as he cupped her ass with his strong hands and plunged deep inside her.

He was strong, full of stamina, and knew how to use every inch of his cock. His fingers found just the right spot, and knew exactly how much pressure to use. The combination of him thrusting inside her and his fingers massaging her at the same time was mindblowing. She couldn’t think. She could only feel, letting each sensation fill her to overflowing. His eyes bore into hers with such tenderness she couldn’t stop her tears. Making love had never been so sweet, so connected. He was right here with her. Not a million miles away. He wanted her, only her, and every moan, every touch, every longing look sent her deeper into their sacred dance. She squeezed him with her legs, enjoying the way his thigh muscles clenched and unclenched as he thrust in and out. Each stroke sent a fresh wave of pleasure through her, reaching up from the center of their universe and radiating out to her fingertips and toes. Rowena gasped for breath as he pulled out, turned her on her side, and entered her again from behind, thrusting deeper and faster while one hand held her ass cheek and the other cupped her breast. Her orgasm came quickly, intense, and nonstop. When he finally climaxed, he held her for long moments, whispering her name, then slid out and pulled her into his arms, kissing her tenderly. The night air grew cool, and a faint smell of gunpowder

drifted in with the breeze. The distant voices of people walking home from the park reached her ears. The heady smell of sex mixed with lilacs filled their space. She snuggled deeper into his arms, soothed by his heartbeat and the soft sounds of his breathing.

Chapter Ten Van sat straight up in Rowena’s bed, unsure what had woken him. Beside him, she breathed softly in her sleep. Snowball lay curled at the foot of the bed. He pulled on his jeans and shirt, watching to make sure he didn’t disturb her, although he’d rather be making love to her again than wandering through the house in the middle of the night looking for phantoms. As he tiptoed past the bed Snowball yawned and stretched. He opened the door and froze. A faint oily odor hung in the air, and his first thought was the candle but it was still on the nightstand, snuffed out, where they’d left it last night after bringing everything down from the tower. He opened his cell as he descended the stairs, every sense on high alert. The smell was stronger down here. He punched in a number, racing back up the stairs. “Rowena,” he shook her shoulder. “You need to get up. Now.” A voice answered the call. “Steve? Van Whitney. I need a truck at 324 Willow. Lunette Gallagher’s old house. Something’s burning downstairs.” “What?” Rowena sat straight up and looked at

him with frantic eyes. “I don’t know. There’s an oily smell.” “Get everyone out,” said Steve. “On that now.” He closed the phone and pointed to Snowball. “Where’s her carrier?” “In the closet. What’s going on?” “Put your clothes on.” He opened the closet door, pulled out the canvas carrier, scooped up Snowball, and dropped her inside before she had time to protest. Rowena was still standing beside her bed, stark naked. “Here.” He thrust the capris at her. Her top from last night was nowhere in sight. “Do you have a T-shirt or something?” She pointed to the dresser. He dropped the carrier on the bed and tried to tune out Snowball’s howls as he opened drawers at random, fighting rising panic. They had to get outside. He pulled out the first shirt he found and tossed it to her. “Here. We have to go.” “What the hell is going on?” “Get outside right now.” He emphasized each word as he picked up Snowball’s carrier. Downstairs, the odor was stronger than before, but he still didn’t see smoke and the air didn’t feel hot. “Wait, my laptop.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her back, then yanked open the front door as sirens wailed in the

distance. “Remind me to test your smoke detectors.” “Don’t bother. They don’t work.” He led her down the porch steps and out onto the front sidewalk. “Are you kidding me?” She shook her head. He was going to kill Jason Monday morning. Those brand-new smoke detectors should have been the very first thing he tested. Snowball was still howling as the truck pulled up. Van asked Rowena to stay on the tree lawn, while he crossed the driveway to meet the crew jumping off the truck. “What you got here?” asked Steve Torrington, Van’s former boss. “No idea. Woke up to an oily smell on the first floor. No smoke yet.” “Let’s go have a look.” Van followed Steve and two other men he’d once worked with, Julio and Ben, into the house. The odor assaulted them as soon as they stepped into the foyer, and they followed it through the parlor and into the dining room. “She shouldn’t keep these windows open overnight,” said Steve. “This side of the house borders the park. Lots of places to hide in those trees.” “I don’t think she normally does. We were at the Corn Festival and came back here to watch the fireworks from the tower. We both forgot to check the

windows.” Steve addressed Julio and Ben. “Why don’t you two check the basement while Van and I finish looking on this floor?” Van and Steve traced their steps back to the foyer and into the kitchen, then down the hallway into the two small bedrooms at the back of the house. “I don’t get it,” said Van. “It’s all over the main floor. Is it coming from the ductwork?” “Did you smell it upstairs?” “No.” “Then it’s not in the ductwork.” “Nothing down there,” said Ben, returning with Julio. “You can’t even smell it.” The men looked at each other, frowning. “All right,” said Steve, “let’s check again, room by room.” He handed Van an extra flashlight. They split up, with Van concentrating on the two bedrooms in the back. He peered behind the furniture in each room where his flashlight beam illuminated nothing but dust bunnies. When Steve called to the group, he found them gathered in the dining room. No one had found anything. Van didn’t know if he’d simply grown used to the smell, but it didn’t seem as strong now. “Do you think we should call the police?” asked Van. “And tell them what?” asked Steve.

Van shrugged. “I don’t know but we have to do something.” He opened his cell phone and punched more buttons. “Tommy? Van Whitney. Can you come over to 324 Willow?” He briefly described the events. “Are you sure someone isn’t in the house?” asked Tommy. “I don’t know.” Van cursed himself for being so careless with her home. Worse than that, he’d put her in danger. “Don’t touch anything else,” said Tommy. “Go outside and wait for us.” Van crossed the sidewalk to where Rowena still stood on the front lawn, a deep scowl on her face. A small crowd of neighbors had gathered in the street behind her. “The cops are on their way,” he said. Her eyes filled with fear. “Why?” Van led her away from the neighbors. “I don’t understand this yet, but the smell is only on the first floor.” She blinked several times. “As if this could get any worse.” “What does that mean?” “I can’t believe how fast they got here.” She nodded toward the fire truck. “It’s a small town.” When two squad cars pulled up to the front of the house, Van sprinted over to meet his former football teammate, Tommy Farley, and three officers he didn’t

know. “Keep everyone outside for now,” said Tommy. He turned to his officers and directed two to sweep the yard, then went inside with the other one. Van returned to where Rowena stood. “Where is the smell coming from?” she asked him. “I don’t know.” “Did you smell it? Is that why you were awake?” “I don’t know what woke me up. Old instincts, I guess.” He watched her cast furtive glances toward the group of neighbors that seemed to be growing by the minute. Her hair was a mess, and in her haste she’d buttoned her shirt off-center. Was she worried what they’d think of the police and fire department showing up in the middle of the night? He hated the thought of her not feeling comfortable in her own home. Tommy emerged from the house and crossed the driveway to where the group stood. “I guess you guys can go,” he said to Steve. “There’s no fire. Can you and Rowena come inside, please?” He looked at Van with an urgency that sent another ripple of fear through him. Rowena followed Tommy, and Van turned to shake hands with the firefighters. “Thanks guys. Sorry it was a false alarm.”

“No problem,” said Steve. “It’s a slow night. No one blew anything up with fireworks, unlike last year.” Steve hung back while Julio and Ben headed for the truck. “Van, you do know who she is, right?” “She’s Jake’s sister. You know that.” “I mean, you know why she left LA, right?” “What the hell does that mean?” Steve shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Good night.” Van watched the truck pull away. As he scanned the crowd of neighbors, tiny flashes of light danced before his eyes. They were taking pictures with their cell phones. No wonder Rowena was upset. He found Tommy in the dining room. Rowena sat in a chair with her legs drawn up staring at her painted toenails. Snowball was still in her carrier. “Can she let the cat back out now?” Van asked. “Sure.” Rowena picked up the carrier and left the room without a glance at either of them. “She OK?” asked Tommy. “Probably not. What do you think is going on here? Tommy shrugged. “I can’t figure out where the smell is coming from. It’s not outside, but it’s strongest in this room, even with the windows open. I’m having someone come over to dust the house for

prints, just in case.” Van wondered if Tommy had been drinking. “Do you really think someone came in here just to make her house smell weird?” “Hell if I know. Rowena said nothing appears to be missing in the house. Had her walk through every room and take a quick look.” The other three cops came into the room. “How long have those pickets been missing from the fence?” one asked. “Since she moved in. And the gate at the back was already missing a hinge.” Rowena returned, and Van tried to put his arm around her, but she moved away. “I’d suggest you two sit tight for a while,” said Tommy. “Once we dust for prints we’ll be out of your way for tonight.” “Why would someone do this?” Rowena asked, her voice shaky and small. Van flashed back to a time when she was about seven or eight, and he and Jake had scared the crap out of her by hiding in the basement. When Aunt Loony sent her down there for more canning jars, they’d jumped out. She sounded like that now. A frightened child who needed someone to hold her and assure her everything would be all right. “Rowena, we don’t know,” said Tommy, taking a small notebook and pen from his pants pocket. “Is

there anything else strange that’s been going on around here?” Rowena sat down. “When I first moved in, someone called Aunt Loony’s landline twice. It was just heavy breathing. I thought it was a prank.” “What? You never told me that.” Van glared at her. “That line still in service?” asked Tommy, shooting Van a look that said “you aren’t helping right now.” “No. I had it disconnected.” “Do you remember the number?” Rowena rattled off Aunt Loony’s number. “And there are weird sounds outside almost every night, although I can’t say for sure if they’re still there because I sleep with a floor fan on now.” Rowena described the sounds while Tommy wrote. Van’s jaw dropped open. “You didn’t tell me that either.” What else hadn’t she told him? By all appearances, it seemed she’d settled comfortably into this house, but obviously that wasn’t true. The fishbowl comment last evening, her anxious glances at the group of neighbors outside, and now these revelations. Couple that with Steve asking him if he knew why she’d left LA, and Van wondered what the hell he’d made himself part of. The very last thing he wanted to do was be thrust back into the local limelight.

“Anything else?” asked Tommy, shooting Van another look. “The back door was open the first night I heard the sounds. The one that leads to the porch. But Van thinks it was just a loose latch.” Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Let’s go have a look.” Van showed him how the latch didn’t catch all the way, and Tommy asked if there was anything else. “Trace Coleman was at the Corn Festival,” said Van. “And he showed up here the day she moved in.” He cut his eyes to Rowena. “I’m pretty sure he drove past her house Thursday, at least four times.” “The ghost hunter dude?” asked Steve. At the same time Steve spoke, Rowena fixed Van with a cold stare. “Now who’s not telling everything?” she asked. “He had a cameraman with him last evening and tried to badger Rowena into letting him investigate the house.” Van couldn’t meet her eyes. He should have told her about Trace driving past the house. Tommy scoffed. “He’s an idiot.” “Do you think it’s related?” Van wanted someone to validate his suspicions. “Do you?” Van shrugged. “I don’t know. I only know he makes my hair stand on end.”

Tommy looked around the room. “What’s with the drywall patches?” “We’re restoring the house. We can’t take all the walls down at once to rewire because of her cat, so we’re doing it room by room. This is just temporary drywall.” They heard voices in the foyer. “That’ll be the print team,” said Tommy, leaving the room. “I’m going back upstairs,” she said. Van winced at the pain in her eyes. “I’m sure they won’t mind if we stay down here.” “Maybe not, but my suitcases are upstairs.” “Rowena, what are you talking about?” “I’m done. I’m leaving.”

Chapter Eleven Rowena sat on the edge of her bed and hugged her knees to her chest as she listened to Van talking to several people downstairs. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for. Coming home meant comfort, stability, acceptance. She didn’t feel any of those things right now. Instead she wanted to flee, much the same way she’d left Brett’s apartment the day the e-mails hit the tabloids. She’d packed her things and hightailed it to Tricia’s, the one person she knew she could turn to when things got ugly. Well, things sure had turned ugly again, but running to Tricia’s wasn’t an option this time. How could such a perfect evening end up so terribly wrong? Van Whitney had turned out to be charming and romantic, not at all how she remembered him. Making love with him was incredible, beautiful, amazing. Then, as she stood on the front lawn wondering if Aunt Loony’s house was about to burn to the ground, the behavior of her neighbors slapped her in the face with a harsh dose of reality. When the police showed up, that was the last straw. By the time she crossed the driveway to where Van stood talking to the firefighters, she couldn’t stop her legs from trembling,

convinced that any second a news crew would appear. Van came into the room and sat next to her on the bed. “They’re finally gone.” “I made a mistake coming here to live.” “No you didn’t. They’ll figure this out. Tommy is a good detective.” “I’m not talking about the weird smell, although that’s freaky enough. I thought if I came home I’d get away from all the gossip and speculation. The ugly things people say.” “I’m not following you.” Was he being deliberately obtuse? Cindi’s admonition that she should have hired a professional came back to her as she watched Van. That memory was followed by Van showing her the lockbox and telling her the guys were too interested in what was behind her walls. Had she made a huge mistake hiring him? “Rowena, please tell me what’s bothering you.” “I heard my neighbors say that you only took this job because of who I am and because of the money you’d make. They said you hadn’t changed a bit since high school, and their proof was that it sure hadn’t taken you long to get into my bed.” She hated the look of pain that crossed his face. “And you believe that?” His voice was tight, small.

“Van, I don’t know what to believe right now.” “You said you’d give us a chance to start over.” “Not in words.” “OK, technically, no. But I assumed when we made love for hours that meant you agreed.” His eyes flashed with anger. “It did.” “So now things are different?” His voice held a hard edge she’d never heard before. “Not different. Clearer.” She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying. “Clearer? What does that mean? Where does that leave us, Rowena?” “I don’t know.” “Nice, Rowena. Really. Thanks.” The hurt in his eyes sliced through her heart. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Van.” “Then what are you trying to do? Because from where I’m sitting it sure feels like you’re twisting the knife.” She rose from the bed and crossed to the windows. This was hard enough without images of the way he’d held her while they made love clouding her thoughts. “I don’t want to bring down more gossip on my head or yours.” “It’s a bit late for that.” She turned to face him. God, it was so hard to look into those amazing blue eyes and keep a rational

thought. “You really have no idea what I’ve been through. The fear I live with.” “And you have no idea what I’ve been through,” he snapped. “What? How can you compare the two? Your uncle was the embezzler, not you. That’s hardly the same thing as having your financial holdings reported in a national magazine.” He opened his mouth then snapped it shut just as quickly. A look of raw pain crossed his features, but it was gone so fast she wondered if she’d imagined it. “Ignore the gossip,” he said. “It blows over and they move on to the next thing. I’ve been there, too.” Oh, really? “I already know how to ignore gossip, Van. I’ve been doing it for a long time. But this is my home. My neighbors were taking pictures with their cell phones tonight, for God’s sake. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’m surprised a news crew didn’t show up.” “Did you really believe people in Creek Ridge weren’t keeping tabs on your life?” Rowena began to pace the room. “I don’t know what I believed.” “You’re a celebrity, whether you want to accept that or not. You were on the front page of every rag mag each time Brett Fontaine decided to get some on the side.” “You won’t be so flippant about it when your

picture is in Celebrity next week.” “Flippant? Is that what I’m being? You think I’m not upset to see you hurting like this? What do you imagine this night meant to me, Rowena?” She didn’t want to answer the question. The desperation in his voice was tearing her apart. “Answer me. What do you think our lovemaking meant to me?” “I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, rose from the bed, walked the perimeter of the room once, and flopped back down on the bed. “Jesus. I don’t even know how to respond to that. You’re never going to believe I’ve changed, are you?” “I didn’t say that.” “Then what the hell are you saying? It’s not coming through. Help me here.” “You didn’t tell me Trace Coleman drove past my house, or that Jason and Darrell found that lockbox.” “What?” “You should have told me right away about both things.” “Rowena, I’m not talking about that fucking ghost hunter or my crew. I’m talking about you and me.” “This is about you and me. I don’t appreciate your taking that situation into your own hands.” “What should I have done? Should I have ruined

your dinner with Toni and Roger to tell you about Trace and the box? I didn’t think you were in the best emotional state that evening to deal with more bad news.” She stomped across the room and stood in front of him. “That wasn’t your decision to make.” He held up his hands. “OK, OK. You’re absolutely right. I was trying to protect you. I’m sorry. I should have said something. But while we’re on the subject of honesty, why didn’t you tell me you still heard the noises at night, or that someone was making prank phone calls on Aunt Loony’s landline?” “I didn’t want to worry you.” He didn’t have to say it. She’d done the exact same thing, tried to protect him. “I’m sorry, Van. I should have told you.” “This is ridiculous. I can’t even figure out what we’re arguing about.” “Neither can I.” He slumped forward and put his face in his hands. “We’re both tired. Want me to leave so you can get some sleep?” The air was suddenly heavy with unspoken questions. She didn’t want to be alone in the house tonight, but she couldn’t lie next to him while images of his face plastered on the cover of a magazine floated through her mind. When that happened he’d

run. Better to end this now before she did something stupid like fall for him. Too late. He rose from the bed. “Tell you what. I’ll stay, because I don’t think you should be alone tonight, but I’ll crash in another bedroom, OK?” She nodded. If she spoke right now her voice would betray her. He closed her bedroom door softly as he left, which was somehow worse than if he’d slammed it. Only when she heard him close the door to Aunt Loony’s bedroom across the hall did she finally let the tears come, crying into her pillow to muffle the sobs. *** Rowena woke Saturday to the sound of Snowball meowing and scratching at the door. Bright light streamed in through the windows. What time was it? She opened the door to let Snowball out then glanced at the alarm clock. It was nearly noon. She hadn’t slept so late in years. She padded across the hall but knew Van was gone before she poked her head into Aunt Loony’s room. The scent of lilacs now mixed with Van’s smell, making her heart ache. She pulled back the comforter, exposing a soft indent on one side of the sheet, the

only evidence he’d been there. The air felt empty, sad without him. But in the clarity of daylight she knew if they continued to see each other he’d end up getting hurt. Her neighbors snapping cell phone pictures last night was all the confirmation she needed. So why did she feel so miserable? Why didn’t she feel noble or strong, filled with the courage of her convictions?

Downstairs the oily smell still hung in the air, but only in the dining room. Someone had closed the windows, so she flung them open. After living in LA for ten years she wanted to enjoy the fresh, clean scent of spring weather Ohio offered. She walked through the entire downstairs, opening windows and searching for a note. Nothing. He hadn’t used her espresso maker, and there was no evidence he’d made himself something to eat. The only physical proof he’d been here last night was the stuffed snow leopard, still perched on the chair where she’d placed it before she and Van went up to the tower to watch the fireworks. Snowball jumped onto the kitchen table and craned her neck to sniff the snow leopard. Rowena reached over to scratch her cat under the chin. “Don’t

you worry, girl. That cat is fake. She can’t replace you in my heart.” At least she’d have the memory of last night. No one could take that away from her. Not Becca or Tiffany or any of her neighbors and their damn cell phones. One perfect evening and an incredible few hours in Van’s arms were hers to keep and cherish forever. After showering and drinking more coffee than she probably needed, she checked her e-mail and voice mail, just in case. Nothing. She made herself a sandwich and went upstairs to tackle the two bedrooms she’d started to clean out on Friday. *** Van woke Saturday afternoon and couldn’t remember where he was for a few seconds. The events of last night came crashing in, and he rolled over, hugging his pillow. Aunt Loony’s bed wasn’t comfortable, and he hadn’t been able to fall asleep after their argument. He’d left before dawn. Rowena needed her rest after what she’d been through. Rowena. God what a mess he’d made of things. He’d had more fun with her at the Corn Festival than he’d ever had with anyone. And the sex…she was an incredible lover. But what if all he’d done was rain

down more gossip on them both? Her neighbors snapping cell phone pictures bothered him. Hell, it scared the shit out of him. The last thing he wanted was to relive that nightmare. How could such an amazing night turn to shit in the space of a few hours? He’d gone against his better judgment and become involved with her. What the hell was he supposed to do now? It’s not like he could undo any of it. He couldn’t erase the look of childlike happiness in her eyes when he won her that stuffed animal, and he couldn’t forget the heady, perfect feel of holding her in his arms. She was like a drug. He had to have her. He was in deep trouble, and there was nothing he could do about it. His cell rang and he answered it without checking the caller ID, certain it was Rowena. “Hey boss,” said Larry Wilson. “You still coming out with us tonight?” “Huh?” “Bobby Malcolm’s birthday. The big three-oh. Don’t tell me you forgot?” That would be a yes. “Where we going again?” “The Saloon. Where else?” “Ah, Larry, I don’t know. That place is…can’t we take him somewhere else?” Larry laughed. “Like where? He has his own stool, for Christ’s sake. We’ll see you around seven.”

*** Rowena forced herself to answer Emma’s call, knowing the first thing she’d ask is why, if she’d been back in Ohio for almost a month, hadn’t she come down to see them? As if Emma didn’t already know the reason. Instead she changed the subject when Emma tried to press her on the issue. “Did I tell you Van Whitney owns his father’s company now, and he’s restoring Aunt Loony’s house?” “Why didn’t you just sell it, Rowena? It’s a dump.” “I love the house. I’m living in it.” “All that money you got. You could live anywhere.” “I like it here.” The unspoken implication was that Rowena should have come to Columbus to live. She knew what she’d hear next. “Mom and Dad aren’t getting any younger. I can’t take care of them all by myself.” Rowena rolled her eyes and absently scratched Snowball under the chin. “They don’t need taking care of.” “Still, I’m the only one here with them.” “Because you had to move there to keep your job. Mike was the only one still here with Aunt Loony, and she needed more looking after than Mom or Dad do, yet you never heard him whine about it.”

“Speaking of jobs, what are you going to do now for employment? Or do you plan to just live off the settlement?” Emma wouldn’t talk about Mike, and Rowena knew that, but she liked to twist the knife every once in a while. Mike might be a total screwup but Emma was no saint. Rowena told her about the freelance gig with Toni. “But aren’t you blackballed or something?” The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable. “Only in Hollywood. New York is different.” “Well, I wouldn’t know about that. When are you coming down here to see us?” “Christmas.” “Ha-ha. Why not come down this weekend?” “Because there are a lot of decisions to make on this house every day and I can’t expect Van to make them on his own.” “Ah, so Van is there every day?” Sarcasm mixed with effrontery. Nice combo. “Mom and Pop expect you to visit Andy now that you don’t have to travel across the country to do so.” “Em, I don’t know if I can walk into a prison.” “You haven’t seen him once since he was sent there. I go every month. Last time I took Sasha with me.” “You took your thirteen-year-old daughter to a state penitentiary?” Only Emma would do that. “He’s her uncle.”

“He’s a convicted felon.” “Rowena, you’re no saint yourself.” Rowena Sommers Kills Older Sister in a Fit of Rage! “I have to go, Em.” Rowena turned off the phone and returned to her cleaning spree with renewed vigor. *** Van had a raging headache by the time he swung open the door of the Saloon. He’d debated whether to call Rowena all day, and when he finally decided to bite the bullet and do it, her phone had gone straight to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message. A frightening thought began to ricochet, and he’d almost driven to her house to make sure she hadn’t packed up Snowball and returned to California, but his common sense finally kicked in. She’d probably just turned off her phone. He could always drive by later, just to make sure the house was all right. Bobby Malcolm wasn’t on his usual stool. He sat at one of two tables the guys had pushed together, a bottle of Bud in each hand. Good Lord. This was going to be a long night. Van nursed a beer while he listened to the conversation around the table. Bobby’s big voice still bounced around the room, just as it had once rung

out on the football field, calling plays. He’d been a good quarterback. Probably could have been drafted by the NFL. But he was also good at getting drunk and making poor decisions, which explained how he’d ended up getting Denise Thompson pregnant while home on Christmas break during his sophomore year. The only reason Van kept him on the crew was because he was also very good at construction work, and he rarely made mistakes on the job. He’d gone to work for Van’s father after dropping out of Ohio State, and was now perfectly content to restore houses by day and hang out in the Saloon by night. Next to Bobby, Larry Wilson, divorced from Becca Rawlings, who never let a chance go by to tell someone she’d taken back her maiden name, was the best worker on his crew. Not too bright in the people skills department, but he had a natural gift for working with drywall and plumbing. Larry was a recovering alcoholic, and Van could only imagine how difficult it was for him to be here tonight. But Bobby was Larry’s best friend, and that was the kind of person Larry was. The guys were talking about the game in their sophomore year that lost them a chance at making the playoffs because of a controversial missed field goal by Tim Gotlieb. Van smiled as he listened to the excitement in their voices, just as if they were kids

again and the game had been last weekend. He was so wrapped up in the memory he didn’t realize Tiffany Fuentes had sneaked up behind him until he noticed Jason Monroe staring at a spot above his head, his tongue hanging so low it nearly touched the table. He caught a whiff of flowery perfume as she draped her arms around his shoulders and whispered in his ear, her voice slurred, “Where’s your girlfriend tonight?” Van shrugged out of Tiffany’s arms and turned to look into her once-pretty face. “Tiffany, you’re drunk.” She laughed. Not a tinkling, sweet laugh like Rowena’s, but a harsh, bitter laugh with an undercurrent of fear. “No shit. Where is she?” “She’s not here.” “Becca and I couldn’t believe you were with her at the Corn Festival. I mean, what were you thinking?” Van glanced back at the group. A couple of the guys watched them, but most were still lost in the glory days of high school football. He turned completely in his chair and fixed a grin on his face. One he knew would take Tiffany back to stolen moments in the back seat of his car or her bedroom while her parents watched TV in the living room downstairs.

“Tiffany, sit down. I want to tell you something.” He felt nauseous as lust filled her dark eyes. She pulled over a chair to scoot closer to him until their knees were touching. “Van, why don’t you come back home with me and—” “Shhh.” Van put a finger to her lips, his skin crawling. He wasn’t proud of the fact he’d had sex with Tiffany and every other cheerleader more times than he could count. “Just listen, because I’m only going to say this once.” Tiffany leaned closer, her lips parted. The smell of Jack Daniels hung about her like a cloud. Her eyes filled with desire, cutting right through the haze of booze. Van lowered his voice so none of the guys would hear him. He hadn’t sunk that low, yet. “Rowena Sommers is more of a lady than you, Becca, and every goddamn ex-cheerleader put together. I wouldn’t fuck you again if you were the last woman on earth.” He braced for the expected response, a split second before she slapped him across the cheek, surprisingly strong for a drunk woman. The entire table burst into howling laughter as Tiffany stumbled to her feet and stomped away, nearly falling over a stool before she joined her friends on the other side of the bar. “Christ,” said Jason. “What the hell did you say to

her?” “Nothing.” “Man, you’re gonna have one helluva bruise. Tell us what you said to her.” “Drop it.” Van glared at him, then signaled for Dan. This had just become a two-beer night.

Chapter Twelve Rowena walked into the Verizon store Sunday afternoon, and when she emerged two hours later she had a new cell phone and a new number. The call from Brett this morning had been the last straw, and she wondered what the hell had taken her so long to put an end to them. He’d had the unmitigated gall to laugh at last week’s Celebrity, right after making a caustic comment about how backwoods Creek Ridge, Ohio was, and how no one in that town could imagine having so much money. When he started to make comparisons to the last scene in It’s a Wonderful Life, she said things a lady should never say, even to a man like Brett. She left Van a voice mail message giving him the new number, then sent him a text message as well. He needed her number because he was working on her home, after all. Sure. Just keep telling yourself that. She missed him. There was no use denying it. Stay strong. This is what’s best for both of you. A drive through town would clear her head. The June sky was her favorite shade of blue, dotted with a few puffy white clouds. A perfect day to become reacquainted with Creek Ridge. It might be

backwoods compared to LA, but she was determined to fall in love with it again. Three new strip malls had gone up on the east end, and she was impressed with the array of stores. There were several new restaurants she made a mental note to try. Closer to her neighborhood, several new subdivisions had sprung up. She drove slowly down the streets of the largest one, lined with homes in various stages of progress, smiling at the children playing in the yards and new neighbors chatting away to each other. They were starting over. Whether it was their first home or a new one, they had a chance to make it their own and build memories. That’s what she’d envisioned for herself. Moving home to start over. Instead she’d found herself thrust into more gossip and less-than-welcoming neighbors. And now she’d involved Van as well. She drove past the high school, then circled back and pulled into the student parking lot behind the building. Exiting her car, she crossed the pavement, stopping outside the maintenance entrance. It would be locked, of course, but by marching up to the door, she’d prove she wasn’t afraid. It was only a building, for heaven’s sake. To her surprise the door opened. She heard someone singing in a clear tenor. Mr. Quentin, the maintenance man. He still worked here?

It still smelled the same. A mixture of old food, sweat socks, and whiteboard cleaner. She stood still and let the emotions flood her mind, cataloguing them as if she were reading the words in a script rather than feeling them. It was the only way to handle the onslaught and not run screaming from the grounds. Fear, anger, confusion, helplessness. Yep. They were all still there. Insane, considering she’d left home at eighteen and lived in Hollywood for the past ten years. She wasn’t a kid anymore. To allow this building and its memories to have such power over her was ridiculous. She was about to turn around and head outside when Mr. Quentin turned a corner. “Rowena Sommers, is that you?” He’d never forgotten a student’s name. She had no idea how he kept them all straight. “Hi, Mr. Quentin. How are you?” She shook his cool, veiny hand. “Can’t complain. What are you doing here? Miss the old place, do you?” “Not really.” He laughed, clear and loud. “I heard you were in LA. Come back for a visit?” “I’m back for good.” “Want to walk around the place some? Chew on a few memories?”

“I think I’ll pass. Not really sure why I came here, to be honest.” His dark eyes were thoughtful, and she wondered how much of her four years of torture he’d seen firsthand. “Rowena, I recall your brothers more than you and your sister. Always in trouble, those four, but not you and Emma. You were good girls.” He fixed her with an intense stare and squeezed her hand. “The good girls are the ones who have the toughest time when they’re young. No one understands them. But life has a way of working things like that out. Cream rises to the top. Know what I mean?” Rowena smiled, standing on tiptoes to give him a quick peck on his weathered cheek. “Yes, Mr. Quentin. I know exactly what you mean. Thank you.” As she drove back home, her heart lighter than it had felt in a long time, Rowena called Tricia. She needed girl talk. After giving Tricia her new number, she told her about the conversation with Mr. Quentin. Tricia asked how things were with the house, and Rowena pulled into a drug store parking lot to finish the conversation. She spilled her guts about Van and everything that had happened the night of the Corn Festival. “Rowena, hold your head high. Remember why you moved back home. It’s your house and your hometown. As for Van, if it’s meant to be it’ll work

out. You know that.” “I know. I’m just all mixed up inside.” “Give it some time and space. You just came out of the mess with Brett.” Tricia was right, of course. *** Van rolled over in bed and picked up his cell phone. One forty-three in the morning. Another sleepless night. Rowena had changed her cell number, he knew that from the text and voice mail messages he’d found this afternoon, but neither message had said anything else. Just letting you know I have a new number. Nothing personal, just business. He wondered why suddenly, after a month, she’d finally decided to change her number? Was it because of the magazine article or because of the caller she’d told to fuck off? He knew she’d received more calls from the same person since the day she moved in, because he’d overheard her on the phone saying the same thing several times since then. Was it Brett Fontaine who kept calling her? And if so, why? The questions that flitted through his mind made him feel like a jealous kid. How had Brett Fontaine been able to access her e-mail account? Did she still

love him? Why would she still have feelings for a creep who’d hurt her so badly? The minute that last question took shape he already knew the answer. Rowena was more than capable of having feelings for someone who’d once hurt her. Her lovemaking the other night hadn’t been only physical. She cared for him, despite what he’d done to her in high school. If she could still care for him, it was possible she wasn’t over Brett Fontaine. *** Larry Wilson and Bobby Malcolm arrived first Monday morning, which surprised Rowena because Van was usually there well before his crew. She had coffee ready, just as she did every morning, and when Larry and Bobby went straight to the kitchen Rowena followed. “Did you have a nice birthday?” she asked Bobby. Bobby’s eyes widened, and Rowena frowned at the flush that crept up his neck. “Um…how did you know I had a birthday?” “You and Jake share one, remember?” She’d called Jake yesterday but he hadn’t yet returned her call. “Oh yeah. I forgot. How is Jake?” Rowena took a sip of coffee. “He’s fine. I’ll tell

him you said hi when I talk to him again.” “So, where’s Van this morning?” She tried to keep her voice casual. “He’ll be a bit late today,” said Larry. “Said he had something to take care of.” Larry hadn’t yet made eye contact, which was unusual because Larry was always staring at her. A feeling of dread began to creep in. “Everything all right?” “Yeah, sure.” She looked from one man to the other, sipping her coffee. Something was definitely not right. “What’s going on, guys? You look like you caught me naked or something.” Rowena wasn’t in the habit of speaking to Van’s crew that way, but she had goose bumps all over her arms and it wasn’t from the chilly morning. Bobby laughed nervously. “Everything is fine, Rowena. Honest.” “Bobby, you’re a lousy liar.” She walked into the parlor and curled up on the sofa, facing the window. One by one the usual cars parked in front of the house and lined the driveway. As the guys filed in they glanced at her but didn’t say anything. She listened to them mulling around in the kitchen, drinking coffee, talking about sports. Van finally pulled up in his Mercedes about an hour later, glancing at his watch as he climbed the

porch steps. He opened the front door and stopped in his tracks when he spotted her. “Oh. I thought you’d be gone by now.” “Is that so?” “You usually take your laptop and go work in the mornings.” She rose from the sofa and advanced toward him, watching every muscle in his face. “Is that why you came in late? You were hoping I’d be gone already?” He glanced toward the kitchen, and she realized the conversation in there had stopped. “Rowena, this isn’t the best time to talk.” She stepped closer until they were just inches apart. “Why did you come in late?” His eyes cut toward the kitchen again. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered. “Van, at the very least I expected you to be honest with me.” “Huh?” He didn’t bother lowering his voice this time, and his eyes snapped with anger. “How am I not being honest?” “You’re avoiding me. It’s cowardly.” “Why did you change your phone number?” “What?” “Why, after a month, did you finally change your cell phone number?” “Because I wanted to.” “Now who’s not being honest?”

What on earth was he talking about? What did her phone number have to do with what happened the other night? The silence in the house was deafening. The guys were listening to every word, and this was none of their business. She raced up the stairs as his voice called from the foyer, asking her to wait. *** Van snapped at his guys so much all morning that they started dropping things and making mistakes they never made. Every time he heard a car outside his heart raced, hoping it was Rowena. She’d left just minutes after their confrontation without saying another word. By the afternoon they were way behind schedule, and the cable company was due to hook up her service in the morning. Van had to call and reschedule because now it looked like they wouldn’t finish wiring before Wednesday, at the earliest. By the time they quit around six, the guys were barely speaking to each other and Rowena still hadn’t returned. “See you in the morning, boss,” said Larry, clapping him on the back. “Hey, Larry, hang on a sec, OK? Look man, I’m

sorry about today. You guys are working hard to get this wiring done on time.” “Van, it’s cool. Why don’t you wait here and talk to her? She’s got to come home sometime. She’d never leave her cat alone. Fix her dinner. Girls love shit like that.” “Why the hell would I do that?” And why the hell did he have the uncomfortable feeling Larry had just read his mind? “Because you care about her, that’s why. And don’t try to tell me you don’t.” Van took a deep breath, sniffing the air. Larry must have started drinking again. “Look, we’re not kids anymore. I never seen you look at a girl like you look at Rowena. I never seen you look at your ex-wife like that, you know? Rowena’s been in love with you since she was a kid. Don’t let something that happened way out in California ruin a good thing, you know? Life don’t give you do-overs. I should know.” Van stared at the door a long time after Larry closed it behind him and drove away. Not only was that the longest string of sentences Larry had ever put together, Van had never heard him make more sense. ***

Rowena pulled into the driveway as nighttime fell. This had been the longest day of her life. Her butt hurt from sitting in a library chair all day, and she felt sick to her stomach from eating too much fast food. On the plus side, Toni was ecstatic over the latest designs, and had promised to take a day off this week and come over to see the progress on the house. It smelled like rain, and the katydids were singing, a sound that never failed to remind her of summer nights exactly like this one. She wished Van were here. They could sit out on the porch together and wait for the rain. Snowball greeted her in the kitchen, voicing her displeasure at the late arrival. Rowena flipped on the light and found a note on the table in Van’s neat script: Made dinner. It’s in the fridge. I’m sorry about this morning. Can we talk tomorrow? She opened the fridge and took out two large Tupperware containers. Lifting the lid on one she took a deep breath. Lasagna. Oh wow. The other was filled with green beans and asparagus. The clock said just after nine. Not too late to call. She scratched Snowball under the chin and opened her cell. Before she could punch in his number, the lights went out. “What the hell?” She let her eyes adjust to the dark then walked out onto the front porch. Every home up and down

the street was lit, as were the streetlights. No one was out, so she walked across the street and knocked on Cathy’s front door. “Is your power on?” she asked when Cathy came to the door, feeling instantly stupid. The TV blared in the background. “Yep. Yours out? Maybe Van and his crew screwed something up?” Rowena didn’t bother to acknowledge her remark. She crossed the street and opened her cell phone. Van answered on the second ring. “Hi, it’s me. My power is out, but the rest of the street is on.” “Um, OK. Check the main panel in the basement. I’ll stay on the line.” “Sure. Let me grab a flashlight.” She rummaged in the kitchen drawers while trying to balance the phone between her ear and shoulder. It dropped when she pulled out the flashlight. As she bent down to pick it up, something scraped against the floor. She froze, listening again, and nearly yelped when Snowball rubbed her leg. “Silly girl. You scared me.” “Rowena?” Van’s voice was full of concern. “I’m OK. Just dropped the phone. Going down to the basement now.” Her pulse quickened and the flashlight suddenly felt slippery. She tried to tell herself the scrape she’d

heard was Snowball, rubbing against the table leg, but it had been too soft, too far away. Like in another room of the house, perhaps. The basement stairs loomed ahead. Every horror movie she’d ever watched sprang to mind. Some dense teenage girl always went into the basement or the woods alone, and ten gruesome minutes later she was dead. “Van, just keep talking to me, OK?” “If you don’t want to check it yourself, I’ll come over.” Was that a touch of annoyance she heard? The hell with him, even if he had made her dinner. She wasn’t afraid of a dark basement. After descending the stairs she crossed to the south wall. By now both palms were damp and she almost dropped the cell phone again. It wasn’t only pitch-dark down here. It was musty and the air felt stale. She could hear her own heartbeat and breathing, and both sounded too ragged, too forced. Van had showed her the new circuit breakers, but she couldn’t remember how to tell if any of them were tripped. She shone the beam up and down the box, but her thoughts were still on the scrape she’d heard. “Van, how do I tell if—” A crash sounded and she screamed, whirling around. The beam of her flashlight caught something dart along the wall and she screamed again. “Rowena? Rowena are you all right?”

She heard Van’s frantic voice shouting in her ear, but she couldn’t answer him because her mouth wouldn’t move. Her heart was racing so fast she had to fight to keep from passing out. She swept the flashlight beam haphazardly around the room, knowing the labored breathing she’d heard wasn’t her own.

Chapter Thirteen Van pulled up to her house behind three squad cars, their flashing blue lights creating an eerie strobe effect among the trees. Soft rain fell, and a large crowd of neighbors stood huddled in the street, some under umbrellas. Van’s stomach flip-flopped as he caught the flash of cell phone cameras. These people seriously needed to get a life. He raced up the front steps, only to be stopped by a cop he didn’t know. “Who are you?” “Vance Whitney. Look, she called me, OK?” The officer didn’t look impressed. “I’m the one who called Detective Farley.” Van fought to keep his voice under control. Getting arrested wasn’t in his immediate plans. The officer spat something into the radio at his shoulder, and Tommy’s voice told him to let Van into the house.

He found Rowena in the kitchen holding Snowball on her lap while two officers lounged against the sink. She put the cat on the table and pushed past the officers, into Van’s waiting arms. “Thank you,” she whispered, her perfume filling his senses. She was OK, not in an ambulance on her way to the hospital. He’d fought against visions of someone assaulting her in a pitch-dark basement the entire drive over, running at least three red lights and countless stop signs in the process. He took a step back and assessed her pale face and hollow eyes. “Are you all right? What happened?” “Van,” Tommy appeared over her shoulder. “Let’s go in the other room and talk.” Snowball followed them into the dining room, and surprised Van by jumping into his lap as soon as he sat down. He scratched her under the chin the way he’d seen Rowena do. “What happened?” he asked again. “Someone flipped the main breaker. Rowena said all the lights went out at once, is that right?” She nodded. “I’d just read your note and found the food, thank you by the way, and was getting ready to call you when everything went dark. I went outside and the streetlights were still lit, so I went across the street and asked Cathy Hill if her power was on.”

“You got home just before this happened?” asked Van. “Yes. I was in the basement with the flashlight when I heard a crash behind me.” “I heard it too, and then you screamed. Twice.” “I thought I saw someone.” “What was the crash?” he asked. “Drywall. It was all over the floor when the cops found me.” A stab of fear shot through Van. “Found you?” Rowena flushed. “I was sitting on the basement floor. I was afraid to come upstairs.” “She heard footfalls race up the stairs, toward the kitchen, then heard a door slam,” said Tommy. “No one else was in the house when we arrived.” “Did he hurt you?” Van asked again, his eyes glued to her face. She shook her head. “No one touched me. I thought I heard breathing but it must have been my own.” Van ran his hands through his hair and glared at Tommy. “So was there an intruder in the house or not?” “Rowena heard someone run upstairs, and it wasn’t her cat who turned off the lights or slammed the back door, so I’d say yes.” “So now what?” asked Van. “First the noises and the oily smell, now this. What are you going to do

about it?” Tommy held up his hand. “Hold on. We didn’t find any fingerprints on these windows that weren’t also in other parts of the house, so if someone was in here the night you smelled the oil, he’d been in here before, or he wore gloves. We’re dusting everything again tonight, including the basement.” Tommy looked at Rowena. “How many people have keys to this home?” “Mike and Van are the only ones I gave keys to. Mike’s been taking care of the lawn for me.” “What about your aunt? Did she give keys to any of the neighbors?” “I don’t know.” Tommy barked an order into his radio, then spoke to Rowena. “You’ll have new locks on all the outside doors before we leave tonight.” “Wait a minute,” said Van. “Are you telling me whoever was in here tonight had keys?” “Shit,” whispered Rowena. Tommy frowned. “Must have. No signs of forced entry and all the windows were locked from the inside. What time did you and your crew leave?” “They left around six and I was here till about eight thirty. Are you sure you gave no one else keys?” he asked Rowena. “Positive.” “Did you dust the breaker panel, too?” asked

Van. “Yes, but half your crew’s prints are probably on it as well as yours and Rowena’s. We’re interviewing the neighbors now. If you left about eight thirty and Rowena got home a half hour later, someone was watching the house. That’s too close to be coincidence.” Van put Snowball on the floor and wrapped his arms around Rowena, pulling her tight against him. “It’ll be all right.” “Rowena, I need to ask you some tough questions, and you don’t have to answer them in front of Van if you don’t want to,” said Tommy. “I want him here.” Tommy shrugged. “OK, then. Does Brett Fontaine know you’re living here?” “What? Tommy, get serious. I think he’s on location in Canada. He has nothing to do with this.” “Someone could have done it for him. If I pull your cell records will I see calls from him?” She glowered at Van. He held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything about the phone calls.” “The article in Celebrity,” said Tommy. “He has motive.” “He does not have a motive for planting a weird smell in my house or breaking in to turn off the power,” she said. “No one broke in. Is it possible he has keys?”

“Absolutely not. I haven’t seen him since the final court date almost two months ago.” “But he has called you, right?” “I changed my number yesterday.” “Give me both numbers.” Rowena rattled off her old and new numbers. “Tommy, I’m telling you he has nothing to do with this. It’s not his style.” “Meaning what?” “Meaning if you’ve been keeping up with the gossip columns, you know what he does to hurt people.” “Twenty million dollars is a pretty strong motive.” “It’s peanuts to him. His ex-wife got three times that.” Tommy narrowed his eyes. “How long had he been divorced when you met him?” She didn’t answer right away. Van fought an urge to scoot his chair around so he could see her face. “His divorce wasn’t final when we met,” she said quietly. Van’s heart skipped a beat. She’d never told him that. The picture of Cheryl standing across the street in Peter Templeton’s shirt rose in his mind, and he tried to push it away. “So you broke up his marriage,” said Tommy, softly.

“I did not break up his marriage. It was over long before I came on the scene.” “Then what were the calls about?” asked Tommy. “Nothing.” “Rowena, don’t lie to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know everything.” “I’m not lying to you. They were empty threats.” “What kind of threats?” “Leaking more personal info to the press. Whatever. He has a gag order, same as me. That was part of the settlement. Neither one of us can publicly trash the other. The phone calls were him trying to regain his dignity by making me think he had the upper hand.” Van rose from his chair and walked to the windows. He couldn’t let Rowena see how upset he was, especially not in front of Tommy. But he didn’t think Brett Fontaine was involved. “What about Trace Coleman?” asked Van. “Aren’t you even going to consider the possibility?” Tommy hadn’t seen the look on Trace Coleman’s face the night of Corn Festival. Van would bet a month’s pay that idiot ghost hunter was the person behind this. “Does Trace Coleman have keys?” Van whirled to face him. “Tommy, knock off the sarcasm. He grew up less than ten miles away. Anyone in this town could have given him a set of keys. Aunt Loony opened her home to everyone.”

“Well after tonight no one will have a set of keys unless Rowena gives it to them.” “Tommy, I don’t appreciate your sarcasm either,” said Rowena. “I’m sorry, Rowena, but right now this all points to random acts against you personally. Just like last time, nothing was stolen. Your purse and your laptop are still on the kitchen table where you left them when the lights went out. You said you heard footfalls race up the basement stairs, back toward the kitchen, then heard a door slam. Whoever was in this house wasn’t here to rob you, or he could have done so before you came home. And if he wanted to hurt you, he would have done that when you came down into the basement.” Rowena nearly toppled her chair as she stood up. “Stop it.” “Knock it off, Tommy,” said Van. “If you want us to find this guy, cooperate with me.” “How do you know it’s a man?” asked Rowena. “I don’t. Maybe it’s a jealous ex of Van’s. We’d better start interviewing all the women he’s dated.” Rowena made a sound of disgust and stormed from the room. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” asked Van, taking a step toward Tommy. “Look, I have no clue what’s going on here, but

it’s obvious someone has targeted her, and right now the only person with a clear motive is her Hollywood actor ex-boyfriend.” “Why the wisecrack about my dating habits? Don’t you think she’s been through enough?” “Like I said, I don’t know if it’s a man. And you have to admit that a few of your old girlfriends don’t exactly love Rowena.” Van had to sit down. “Christ, Tommy. This is nuts.” “You should hear what people are saying about you.” “I don’t give a damn what anyone is saying about me. I only want her safe.” “Then stay away from her.” “What?” “You heard me. I’ve been on the force nine years and no one’s been called to this house in that time. Not until you started spending time with her. Hell, no one is called to this neighborhood more than twice a year, and it usually turns out to be nothing. I’ll check out Trace Coleman as a favor to you, but personally my money’s on either Brett Fontaine or one of your ex-girlfriends.” ***

Rowena was still on the phone with Trish when Van opened her bedroom door. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited until she finished her call, “Who was that?” “Tricia. I was right about Brett. He’s out of the country on location and has been for over a week. They’re shooting in British Columbia. No way he had time to fly here and stake out the house.” “I know. Just between you and me, it’s a bullshit theory.” All she wanted to do right now was take him into her arms and make love to him until neither of them could breathe. Shut out the world and pretend they were the only two in it. The smell of the basement was still stuck in her head. She needed to fill her senses with his warm, outdoors scent. “Van, I’m so sorry I wasn’t home earlier. I still can’t believe you made dinner for me.” “It was nothing.” “Not true. It was everything. Thank you.” He caressed her cheek, and she sighed, her entire being aching for him. “I owe you an apology for this morning, Rowena.” “No, you don’t. I should have changed my phone number as soon I got to town.” “How often has he called you?” “Every freaking day.

“Why did you answer the calls?” “I didn’t answer all of them. But he would always leave a message.” “Sounds to me like he’s not over you.” She rose from the bed and walked toward the windows. “Trust me, he is.” Van was at her side before she had time to turn around. He took her face in both hands and held it tightly. “If we have any chance at all of making this work, I need to know if you still love him.” “Absolutely not. How could I? Do you understand what he did to me?” “Yes, I do. But look what I did to you, and yet you made love to me like nobody’s business. Was it just sex between us, Rowena? I need to know that too.” He looked into her eyes with so much intensity it frightened her. “Funny. That’s the same question I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she whispered. They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time. Rowena didn’t want to believe what she saw in his. She was afraid to. “It wasn’t just sex,” he said in that low, sexy voice. “And I can honestly say that’s the first time in my life I’ve ever felt that way.” Oh wow. Their lips were locked before she could tell him the same thing. His hands tangled themselves

in her hair, and she pulled him close, pushing against his hard, muscled body. They only pulled apart when the sound of wood being drilled reached their ears. “Locksmith is here,” he said. She found that funny for some reason, and laughed. “Rowena, there’s one more thing I need to know.” His voice was serious. “What is it?” “Did you know he was married when you met him?” Shit. “Yes. But he’d already filed for divorce. It was all over the tabloids.” “I didn’t keep up. Why did they split?” Rowena dropped to the window seat and hugged her knees to her chest. “I never met Missy, but from what Tricia told me she caught him cheating on her.” Van ran a hand through his hair. “Did you know that? I mean when you started seeing him?” “I didn’t know anything.” “But you said it was all over the tabloids and Tricia told you why they divorced. Didn’t you think he’d do the same thing to you?” “I was a naive kid, Van. I had my head in the clouds.” He knelt beside her. “So where does that leave us, Rowena? What do you want from me?” “I want you to forgive my past, just as you’ve

asked me to let go of yours. I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to involve you in my gossip, but I can’t stay away from you.” He pulled her close. “I can’t stay away from you either.” “And what happens when your face shows up in the paper? Or in Celebrity?” He sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to deal with it.” She looked into those intense blue eyes that had haunted her dreams for years. Eyes that she could look into every day for the rest of her life and never grow tired of them. “I’m not sure you really understand what that would mean.” There was that shadow of pain again. What wasn’t he telling her? “I do understand, OK? Just trust me on this one. I know exactly what I might be getting myself into.” “It could hurt your business.” “Maybe, maybe not.” “Van, that doesn’t sound like you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d never do anything deliberate to hurt the business. Those guys count on me for a paycheck. But I’m not going to just give you up.” He kissed her again, tenderly, with so much feeling she felt tears well up. Someone cleared their throat and they looked up to find Tommy standing in

the doorway. “Here are your new keys. We’re all done here.” Rowena took the keys from his outstretched hand. “I’ll walk you out,” said Van. Rowena opened a window and tried to listen to their conversation as they stood next to Tommy’s squad car, but they were speaking too softly. A few neighbors still stood in the rain across the street, watching them. People on this street must be starved for entertainment. Maybe she should invite them in and let them pull up chairs at the foot of the bed? Rowena Sommers Invites Neighbors In To Watch Sexy Romp! She closed the window and sat down to wait for Van, her emotions so confused and jumbled she couldn’t make sense of them. So much for her resolve to end this so he wouldn’t get hurt. It wasn’t just sex. As soon as he’d confessed that, she caved. When Van returned he sat next to her and took her hands in his. “I told Tommy Brett Fontaine is too far away to have had a hand in this. He’s not convinced, but he did promise me he’d check out Trace Coleman.” “You really believe he’s doing this?” “I believe it so much that yesterday afternoon I called Denny Trowers. He’s a detective from Cleveland. He was two years ahead of me in school.”

“What did you tell him?” “His paranormal investigations are amateurish crap. Trace has one of those dramatic deliveries that make everything sound like the worst natural disaster in history. And his findings are questionable. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t caught any true scientific evidence of paranormal activity.” “How would you know what true scientific evidence of paranormal activity looks like?” “When you have large chunks of time to kill like I do, the SyFy Channel is a perfect choice. I’ve watched a lot of ghost-hunting shows. He’s not legit.” “Give me specifics.” Goose bumps sprung up on her arms, just as they had that morning when she tried to figure out why Larry and Bobby were being so evasive. “The things the homeowners on that show think are evidence of paranormal activity can be easily debunked. It’s almost like stuff a kid would think to do.” A shiver ran through Rowena. “Almost every claim of activity from the homeowners who called Channel 5 and asked Trace to investigate ran along the same vein. They smelled something odd in their home, like burning rubber, for instance, and they heard noises in the middle of the night they couldn’t explain.” “Are you freaking kidding me? That son-of-a-

bitch.” “Hang on. Let’s not jump to conclusions, OK? I’m only saying that’s one hell of a coincidence.” “I don’t believe in coincidences.” He grinned. “Like you don’t believe in ghosts?” “Exactly. How do we prove he’s doing this?” “Rowena, it’s a big leap, and we can’t go off halfcocked without proof. Trace would take it public. You don’t need that. Let Tommy do his job. When Denny calls me back I’ll let you know if he came up with anything.” Van pulled her close, wishing he could erase everything she’d been through tonight. He also wished he could erase the nagging doubt in his own mind. He hadn’t forgotten Jason’s reaction when the box was found, and he couldn’t get the image of Trace Coleman driving past the house on the same day Rowena’s settlement became national news out of his head. He hated to think one of his crew might be involved, but the suspicion had taken root and it continued to grow. She kissed his neck, and thoughts of Jason and Trace Coleman went straight out the window. “You must be tired,” he said, inhaling the musky scent of her perfume. “Exhausted,” she cooed, planting soft kisses up and down his jaw line. “And in desperate need of a long, hot shower.”

Good Lord. Every ounce of blood left in his brain shot straight to his crotch as images of Rowena, naked and soapy, replaced thoughts of lockboxes and ghost hunters. He traced a line with his tongue from her neck to her shoulder and moved aside the strap of her top with his teeth. When he licked one erect nipple through the fabric, using long, slow strokes, she took a handful of his hair and pushed his head closer. “Can I wash your back?” His mouth moved to the other nipple. “What about my front?” Her voice was low, her breathing ragged. “I’ll wash that too.” He pulled off her top and unhooked her bra, then buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he wanted her. She tugged off his shirt and raked her tongue over his nipples. “Oh God, Rowena.” He couldn’t think. He could only touch, cupping her breasts in his hands and kneading them, loving their fullness, and the way she moaned and writhed at his touch. Kicking off her shoes, she pulled down her jeans, taking her panties with them. He stroked her wetness, aching to be inside. Her hands were on his jeans, fumbling with the button fly. Reluctantly he took his fingers away from her wet pussy and removed the

rest of his clothing. “Let’s go take that shower,” she said, running her fingers lightly up and down his swollen cock. “If you insist.” She led him into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and they stepped inside. He pulled her into his arms, drinking in the sensations of the water pelting their hot skin. As he kissed her deep and rough, she ground against his thigh, her hands on his shoulders to brace herself. God if she came that easily again he’d go out of his mind. He ran his hands down her back and cupped her round, perfect ass, rubbing against the dizzying wetness between her legs until she cried out, her nails digging into his skin. Good Lord. He turned her back toward him and took the soap in his hands, reaching around to lather her breasts with deliberate circles, paying attention to every centimeter of them. She sighed and moved her ass in tight circles, pushing against his throbbing cock. He kissed her neck, raking his tongue over her wet skin. “Van, please. Please.” “Tell me what you want,” he said, barely able to catch his breath. He’d give her anything she wanted right now. Absolutely fucking anything. “I want your soapy hands all over me. Everywhere.” He stroked her arms, her limbs trembling under

his touch, then caressed her abdomen and back, lower and lower. He took a step back and ran his hands slowly down her muscled thighs, then up again and over her ass. Never had he taken this much time arousing anyone. The more she moaned and wiggled, the more he wanted to please her. His own pulsing need took a back seat. He wanted her delirious with pleasure. Finally, he moved his soapy hands between her legs, stroking until the whispers became cries then screams as he brought her to yet another orgasm. He gently turned her to face him, and held her until she stopped trembling and her breathing slowed. She looked into his eyes with such tenderness he thought his heart would burst. Nothing could erase the softness of her skin or the way she made him feel. He wanted to protect her, hold her, keep her with him always. “Your turn,” she whispered. The shower had a small seat built in, and she lowered herself onto it, pulling him toward her mouth. “Oh, Christ.” Thought was impossible. There was no blood left in his brain. All he could do was brace himself against the wall and let her take him into her mouth, sucking and licking his cock, while her fingers gently massaged his balls. The pressure of his arousal built suddenly, and he reached the point of no return. The

dam burst. Instead of pulling away like he expected her to, she sucked even harder, actually licking her lips when she finally released him. He was only dimly aware of her hands on him, soaping his limbs. Standing up straight was difficult. Her hands glided over his skin, sending shock waves straight to his groin, until he was rock hard again. “Condom,” she whispered. “Where are they?” He wound his fingers in her hair and nipped at her neck. “In the bedroom. Too far away. I’m on the pill you know.” He looked into her eyes. “Is that so?” She nodded. “And I think we’re past the point of worrying about social diseases.” “I don’t have any.” “Me either.” He lifted her off the shower floor and she wrapped her legs tightly around him, her eyes bright and shining. As he pushed her against the wall he plunged home. She held onto his shoulders as he slammed into her, thrusting deep and hard. When his strength started to wane, he pulled out and turned off the water. They stepped out and he kissed her, ravishing the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Stumbling, they held onto each other as they crossed the hall to her bedroom.

Snowball leaped off the bed as they fell onto it. Van covered her body, still kissing her. She sighed and moaned, running her hands over his back and his ass, teasing with her fingers. His balls ached. He released her mouth and trailed down to her breasts, licking and sucking her amazing nipples, until she was begging him to fuck her again. But he wanted her crazy with desire first. Reluctantly he released her breasts and ran his tongue down her abdomen until it found her clit. She cried out as he flicked his tongue over it, teasing her. When he inserted two fingers into her soaking wet pussy, she pushed her hips into the air. He slid his fingers in and out, taking her entire mound into his mouth to gently suck. Her orgasm was insane. Only then did he slip inside her again, holding her close while he thrust in and out, slowly at first. “Van, please.” Watching her face while he made love to her was like looking into her soul. He’d never tell her how many times he’d fantasized about this when they were in high school. But his fantasies hadn’t done her justice. She was perfect. Absolutely fucking beautifully perfect. When he could no longer hold back he let himself climax, holding her in his arms and wishing he could spend the rest of his life, right here, with Rowena.

Chapter Fourteen Rowena answered the door Wednesday afternoon thinking Toni had mixed up her days, to find Denise Thompson standing on her front porch holding a glass baking pan covered with foil. Rowena blinked a few times, convinced she was hallucinating. Then she remembered Denise wasn’t Denise Thompson anymore. She was Denise Malcolm, probably here to see Bobby. Three dark-haired children who were the spitting image of him hung behind her, their expressions wary. “Hi, Rowena. I’m sorry I haven’t come over sooner to welcome you back home. Can we come in?” Rowena opened the door wide. “Of course. Please be careful where you walk. They’re starting to hang new drywall today, and the cable guy is here, so I apologize ahead of time for the swearing. He’s not happy with how the crew wired the cable outlets.” Denise stepped into the foyer and looked around. “Oh, that sounds familiar. They want to be the ones to install them, but you can never get them to come out and do it.” She held out the pan. “These are for you. The kids helped me bake them.” Rowena swallowed hard, studying Denise’s face. She’d barely aged since high school. Taking the pan,

she lifted a corner of the foil. The smell of warm brownies made her stomach rumble. “I don’t know what to say, Denise. Thank you.” “Well, like I said, I should have come sooner, but these three keep me pretty busy.” “I imagine they do.” “Can we go see Daddy?” asked the tallest one, a boy. “Yes, but stay with your sisters and be careful like Miss Rowena said.” They scurried off and Rowena led Denise to the kitchen. “I have to taste one of these right now.” She opened a drawer and took out a butter knife, willing her hands to stop shaking. “Do you want one, too?” “No thanks. I’ve been sampling cookie dough and brownie batter all day.” “You made these from scratch?” Rowena sat down and bit into the square she’d cut. It was chocolate heaven. “Sure. It’s easy.” Rowena shook her head. “Takeout is easy, Denise. This takes actual talent.” “Bobby told me what happened at the Saloon on his birthday. People like Becca and Tiffany just can’t let anything go. Rowena, I know I treated you like dirt in school, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” The brownie slipped from Rowena’s hand and most of it landed on the floor. She looked into

Denise’s dark eyes. “It was a long time ago. Thank you. That means a lot to me. But I don’t know what you mean about the Saloon.” “Oh, well, Van went there to help celebrate Bobby’s birthday, and Becca and Tiffany—you remember them, right?” Rowena nodded as she scooped the brownie pieces off the floor and threw them into the sink. “They’d be hard to forget, Denise.” “Well, they were there, drunk of course, and apparently said something nasty to Van about you.” Rowena took her seat again and folded her hands in her lap to stop them from trembling. “Then Van said something to Tiffany and she slapped him really hard. Bobby said Van refused to tell them what he said.” Rowena swallowed hard, willing her thoughts away from the green monster. “Anyway, I just came over to welcome you home and tell you I’m sorry. I was so jealous of you in high school,” Denise blurted. “Are you kidding? Why would you have been jealous of me?” “You were so smart. And you never got involved in all the nonsense. God, we were so self-absorbed. You look gorgeous, by the way. I mean that. I’ve been following you in the magazines. Oh, not to gloat or anything like that. I think what Brett Fontaine did to

you is horrible. But every time your picture was on the cover I just couldn’t believe how beautiful you were.” Rowena felt the blush creep up her neck. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.” “It’s OK. I’m sure I’m the last person you ever expected to show up here and apologize.” “Well no, actually if Cheryl Larson showed up she’d be the last person I’d expect.” “She moved to Phoenix. Did you know that?” “That’s far enough away.” Denise frowned. “She hurt Van real bad. I’m sure he told you what happened with Coach Templeton.” “He did.” Denise glanced around and leaned closer, lowering her voice. “She was cheating on him before they were married. Bobby tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t believe it.” If sitting in her kitchen eating brownies with Denise felt surreal, it was nothing compared to the rush of emotions this revelation ushered in. She wanted to hate Cheryl all over again, but the image that floated up instead was the look on Van’s face when he asked if she’d known Brett was still married when she met him. Is that what he thought of her? Just another cheater? Rowena put down the brownie. Her appetite was gone. “That’s a tough thing to hear. He probably

wasn’t ready.” “But now he has you. At least, that’s the rumor.” Denise’s eyes were shining, but not with malice. She was happy. “We’re just taking things slow right now.” Rowena couldn’t sit in her kitchen and trade sex stories with Denise. No way. What had he said to Tiffany Fuentes in the Saloon that was so bad she’d slapped him? Denise’s children wandered into the kitchen and eyed the brownie pan. “Never mind,” she said. “We have cookies at home. Rowena, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Good luck with the cable man.” “Thank you for the brownies,” she said, walking Denise to the door. “If I can get Bobby to watch them some night, we should do a girls’ night out. Get to know each other for real.” “I’d like that.” *** After his crew left Wednesday afternoon, Van found Rowena in the dining room. “Does the Internet work?” he asked. “Yes,” she said, without looking up from her laptop.

“When you buy a TV, I’ll hook it up for you. Then we can make sure they didn’t screw up your cable plan or something.” “I’m not even sure where I’d put one at this point.” He sat in the chair next to her, taking a deep breath, letting her perfume fill his senses. She was barefoot, and her toenails were painted crimson this time. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and kiss her into next week. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do with any of the rooms when we’re finished?” “Not really, but Toni will be here tomorrow and she’ll have some ideas.” “You’re staying home tomorrow then?” “Is that all right? She wants to come by and see the progress but if we’ll be in your way I can have her come another day.” “No. That’s fine.” She frowned at the laptop screen, tilted her head, then clicked the track pad a few more times. “Van, do you remember the stories Aunt Loony used to tell about bootleggers and World War II?” “Some of them. Why?” “I’ve been cleaning out the bedrooms upstairs, and I came across letters Uncle Cal must have written her when he was in the service. His script is hard to make out, but he kept mentioning someone named

William, and every time he did he also talked about a five-gallon bucket.” “Huh?” “Exactly. It made no sense. I got a bit curious about William and decided to do some digging.” “Did you find out who he is?” “I think so. I never knew much about Uncle Cal’s side of the family, but he mentioned William so often in the letters I wondered if he could be a relative.” She turned the screen toward him. “And look what I just found.” She’d zoomed in on what appeared to be a birth certificate, listing William Fitzgerald Gallagher, born in Cleveland Ohio in 1907, to Harriet and James Gallagher. “Are those Uncle Cal’s parents?” She nodded. “Yes, I believe so. And the date fits too. Uncle Cal was born in 1909, in Cleveland.” “What do William and a five-gallon bucket have to do with Aunt Loony’s stories?” “I remember this one story she told when I was about ten, right after Uncle Cal died. I didn’t understand a lot of it, and Mike was over at the same time and making a fuss about something, so I never got the chance to ask her more questions. I remember her saying Uncle Cal built this house on stolen money. She actually used the word stolen. She told me she’d never told a living soul, but now that both

of them were dead, the truth would stay buried with them.” “Both of them? Meaning Uncle Cal and William?” “I don’t know. She never talked about it again and like I said, I didn’t have a chance to ask her more questions.” They looked into each other’s eyes, and Van didn’t have to ask if she thought the lockbox was somehow connected. “I also can’t help but wonder,” she continued, “if a certain ghost hunter somehow knows about what’s in that box.” *** “So, tell me the truth,” said Toni, sitting crosslegged on Rowena’s bed. “How’s the sex? He was a freaking legend in high school.” Toni held up her hands. “Not that I’d know. I swear we didn’t.” Rowena knew her face had just turned ten shades of red. “It’s freaking over-the-top amazing.” Toni laughed. “I knew it. Although I’m still surprised to see you two together.” “Why?” Toni raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Vance Whitney might have been a legend, but he was also known for getting the hell out of Dodge if

things got too serious.” Rowena blinked a few times, hoping Toni didn’t see the fear that suddenly coursed through her. “He’s not like that anymore.” “I hope you’re right. He sure took a beating over Cheryl and Coach. That’s enough to change anyone. Not to mention all that stuff about those dead girls.” Rowena’s entire body went cold. “Excuse me?” Toni’s eyes widened. “Oh no. He never told you that.” “Never told me what?” It felt like someone had jabbed her with a million tiny ice picks, all at once. Dead girls? What the hell? Toni glanced toward the hallway. The guys were hanging drywall on this floor. Rowena slid off the bed and locked her bedroom door. “Talk,” she said, taking her seat again. “I guess this never made the national papers, although I’m surprised one of your brothers didn’t tell you. Where do I start? He did tell you about being married to Cheryl Larson, and that she—” Rowena held up her hands. “I know all about Cheryl cheating on him with the coach. What about the dead girls?” Her heart was hammering, and a horrible wind tunnel sound had taken up residence in both ears. “The night of the fire when he discovered Cheryl and Coach were getting it on, he was supposed to be

in the building, but instead he was across the street yelling at them. Someone snapped pictures of him in their face.” “I know all that,” interrupted Rowena. She wanted to scream. Instead she dug her nails into her palms. “While he was across the street, they found twins on the fourth floor. Twelve-year-old girls. Dead. Apparently his partner Julio called for backup but Van wasn’t around. I’m not sure who finally helped Julio pull them out.” Rowena put a hand over her mouth, certain she was going to puke “All that business with his Uncle Mark was still going on. The reporter who printed the pictures of Van confronting Cheryl also printed pictures of those twins being carried out, and the town went nuts.” “Oh my God.” Rowena remembered telling him that he had no idea what real gossip meant, and that his uncle embezzling money wasn’t the same thing as having your financial records posted in a magazine. She also remembered the look of pain on his face every time she mentioned his firefighting career. “Oh Toni. But it wasn’t really his fault they died, was it?” She shrugged. “Who knows? The town thought so. The girls’ parents sued the fire department and Van. The city ended up paying them a hefty sum of

money to make it go away.” Rowena crossed the room and stared out the windows. “That’s why he no longer fights fires.” “He quit after that and went to work for his father. I’m surprised Jake or Mike didn’t tell you all this.” “Jake only told me about his Uncle Mark.” She turned to face Toni. “Did this story make the papers outside of Creek Ridge?” Toni shook her head. “I doubt it. The parents filed suit really fast and the whole thing was over in a few months.” “Then Jake might not even know, but Mike certainly did.” “It was six years ago, Rowena. Mike and Cindi were married and making baby number two by then.” “Good point.” “I’m sorry you had to hear this from me.” “No, it’s OK. I’m glad you told me. It explains a lot. But now I feel terrible. I said some awful things to him about gossip. I had no idea.” “He must not want you to know.” “I can’t imagine keeping this kind of pain inside.” “You can’t say anything to him. You have to let him tell you this in his own way and time.” Toni stood up. “I have to get home. My parents have insisted I show up at my cousin’s engagement party tonight, and unless I want to hear my mom complain

for the next six months about my lack of family commitment, I’d better go.” Rowena walked her to the door then went in search of Van. She found him in the dining room, poring over blueprints. There was plaster dust in his hair, and he frowned in concentration. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him tight. “Toni just left.” “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. What did she think of the house?” “She loves it. She thinks I’m brave to tackle such a huge project and has all kinds of great decorating ideas.” It felt ridiculous to be talking about such mundane things when he had this kind of guilt hanging over his head. “That’ll be fun for you.” He smiled, and her heart melted. “I’ve asked her to watch Snowball and the house this weekend.” “What’s going on this weekend?” Rowena stepped closer and put her arms around him, inhaling his musky scent mixed with plaster dust. “I thought we could go somewhere together. Get away from all the talk about lockboxes and stolen money.” Van grinned. “That’s a wonderful idea. Where should we go?” “Atwood Lake. There’s a bed and breakfast there,

and the house is similar to this one. I thought I could get some decorating ideas.” “Oh, so you have an ulterior motive.” Rowena rubbed her breasts against him, enjoying the low moan in his throat. “I have ulterior motives all right, Van Whitney, and they involve us getting naked.” He kissed her and she pulled him closer, loving the way her body melted into his. A sound reached her ears and he pulled away, frowning. “What is it? Rowena turned to find Jason and Tiffany’s brother, Jorges, standing in the doorway. “We found something else you need to see.” Jason’s eyes were hard, boring right into hers. A ripple of fear ran through Rowena. What the hell was his problem? Van took her hand and followed the men up to the room where Emma had stayed. One wall had been stripped of its plaster, and Jorges knelt in front of it. “This is even better than that box Jason and Darrell found,” he said, picking up a large cylindrical case. “More blueprints?” asked Van, moving closer. Jorges removed the stack of papers from the casing and unrolled them on the bed. Jason stood at the opposite end, holding down the edges. “Sure are,” said Jorges, “but not for this house.” Rowena stared at the drawing, then at each of the men, wishing they’d stop being so dramatic already.

“What is it?” she asked. Van frowned as his finger traced the outline of the building. “I can’t be sure, but it’s not a house.” He flipped through a few pages. ”More like a commercial building.” “I agree,” said Jason. “By the way, did Rowena ever find a key for that box we found?” “I’m right here, Jason,” she said, sarcastically. He gave her such a cold look in return she had to fight the urge to take a step back. “Well then?” he asked. “Did you find one?” “No.” She held his gaze, but every nerve was on high alert. “Jason, go help Curt and Darrell in the other room for a while.” Van locked gazes with Jason, who didn’t move at first, but finally left the room. Van turned his attention to Jorges. “Don’t tell anyone about these blueprints, OK?” “Sure, Van. Not a problem.” He cut his eyes to the doorway. “Everything OK with Jason?” “I’m not sure yet.” “He’s been acting weird for a while.” “Yeah, I know. I’ll ask Larry to come in here and help you finish that wall, OK?” Van scooped up the blueprints, put them back in the casing, and motioned for Rowena to follow him. He walked outside and put them in the trunk of his car. “Van, what on earth is going on?”

He put a finger to his lips, then led her behind the garden shed where they couldn’t be seen from the house. “Are you absolutely certain you want to go away this weekend?” Her heart sank. She’d been lucky to book a room, and was only able to because the owner had a lastminute cancellation. “Van, we’ll be back by Sunday night. Toni will be here every day to look in on Snowball. If anything is going on with the house, she’ll call us right away.” She watched several emotions cross his face, including doubt. “You said you trusted your crew. Are you telling me you no longer do?” He sighed heavily. “All but one.” He ran a hand through his hair. “God, I’ve known Jason my entire life.” “Well, so far all he’s done is act weird about that lockbox, right? And give me attitude just now.” “Yeah, that’s true. Thanks for not telling him what you did with it, by the way.” “It’s not like I lied to him. He didn’t ask where it was, only if I’d found a key. How about if I ask Toni to bring Roger with her when she comes over? Would that make you feel better?” “I wish there was someone who lived closer we could ask to watch the house.” “What about Larry or Bobby? They only live a few streets over.”

Van snorted. “Bobby will be drunk all weekend, but asking Larry isn’t a bad idea.” “So ask him.” “The problem isn’t asking him. He’d do it without question. The problem is getting him not to tell anyone about it. I don’t want the other guys to think I don’t trust one of them. They need to work together as a team.” “That makes sense. But I think the house will be in good hands with Toni and Roger.” “Do you trust Roger?” “Van, he’s an actor. Of course I don’t trust him.” He almost smiled. “Seriously, yes I trust him.” “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling about it.” Rowena crossed her arms. “You’re kind of freaking me out, OK? Nothing is going to happen. No one can get in. The only other person who has a key is you. The noises at night have even stopped. Did you notice?” He grinned, and her heart skipped a beat. “As if I’d hear them anyway with all the noise you make.” “I didn’t hear you complaining, Mister.” He gathered her into his arms. “No complaints. Not one.” Then he kissed her so rough and deep she nearly had an orgasm, right there behind the garden shed.

Chapter Fifteen Van reached across the table at the Lighthouse Bistro in Atwood and took Rowena’s hands. “This was a fabulous idea. Thank you.” “I’m glad you like it. We used to come to Atwood Lake as kids and always had a great time. The first time I saw the house I knew I wanted to stay here one day.” “You’ve always loved Victorian homes.” She nodded, her burgundy curls spilling across one shoulder. “I used to pretend I lived in Aunt Loony’s house instead of my own.” “You practically did.” Rowena drained half her margarita. “You want another one?” he asked. “I’d better not. This is pretty strong tequila.” “The house is only twenty minutes away, around the lake. I can drive if you want.” When she grinned his cock grew hard. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He squirmed as her bare foot slid up his leg, under the table. “Don’t really need to, do I? She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I see how it is. You think I’m easy.” Their waiter brought the crab cake appetizers

they ordered. Van waited until he’d left to answer her question. “Not easy. But definitely the most incredibly sexy woman I’ve ever known.” She finished her margarita, and Van signaled for their waiter. “But you’ve only known cheerleaders, so that’s not saying much for me.” Uh-oh. Van ordered a second round of drinks, studying her face. She didn’t appear to be upset, but her eyes were too bright. Was it just the tequila talking, or was she about to have a meltdown? “I forgot about the dance team members,” she said, putting a forkful of crab cake into her mouth. “You knew some of them too.” Van stopped halfway to his mouth, his fork poised in mid-air. “Excuse me?” “You heard me.” “Rowena, please.” “What? I’m only being truthful.” She picked up her glass and he gently took it from her, placing it on the other side of the table. “Are you OK?” he asked softly. She shook her head and blinked several times. “What’s wrong?” “I’m afraid.” “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Everything. Being back home, my neighbors, what we found in that lockbox, the blueprints. All this.

Being with you. It’s too perfect.” Their waiter appeared, and Van told him they were fine, glaring enough that he hoped the guy would get the hint and stay away for a few minutes so they could talk. Rowena pushed the food on her plate around with a fork. “Rowena, maybe it feels too perfect to you because all you’ve known is shit.” She snorted. “You sound like my parents and Emma.” “How so?” “They’re so disappointed in me. I ran away to Hollywood and lived the life of a movie star, or so they think.” “But that’s not what I think of you. You know that.” She pulled the margarita back to her side of the table and sipped, gazing out the window. The setting sun over Lake Atwood had turned the water into the color of rubies and topaz. “What do they think you should you have done instead?” he asked. “Gone to college. Got married. Had babies.” “You can still do all those things, Rowena.” “I went to college.” “You did?” She nodded. “Uh-huh. I have a Master of Fine Arts from UCLA. Took me seven years to get it but I

did.” He smiled. “I never knew that. Does your family know?” She stabbed at a piece of crab cake “They know. They just don’t care.” “Why not?” She took a long swallow of her drink. “Because it wasn’t what they wanted me to major in.” “What did they want you to study?” “Math. Or History. English, for God’s sake.” He tried not to laugh at the derisive tone in her voice because clearly she was hammered. “Rowena, I promise I’m not disappointed in you.” She held his gaze. “I’m holding you to that promise.” *** Rowena crossed the hotel room and opened the drapes, revealing Lake Atwood and the woods on the other side. A gorgeous, picturesque setting. Perfect for a romantic get-away. Tomorrow they planned to take a rowboat out and explore it, if they left this awesome room, that is. Van came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his erection pressing into her the small of her back, and

she shivered with anticipation. “I feel like a cheap bum letting you pay for this ridiculously expensive room,” he said. She smiled into the darkness. “Technically, I’m not paying for it. Brett is.” He chuckled softly as he nuzzled her neck, sending shock waves of passion through her. She turned to face him, and he caressed her cheek. Would she ever grow tired of that? Not a chance. She kissed him, rough and demanding, tossing aside the anxiety about Aunt Loony’s house, and he responded in kind. His thumbs teased her nipples through her top, and she stroked the length of his cock with her palm. It strained against his jeans until he reached down to unzip himself. She pushed his jeans down, trailing her tongue over his cock as she went. He groaned and wrapped his fingers in her hair. “Commando, Van?” She smiled up at him. “Nice touch.” His grin made her panties flood. “I was hoping you’d like it.” She knelt in front of him and took the head of his cock into her mouth, teasing with her tongue, lightly stroking his balls with her fingertips. He tasted musky and warm. He played with her hair and made soft grunting noises as she sucked gently. “I want you now. Right now.” His voice was hoarse and low.

She stood and pulled off her top. He cupped her breasts and looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and full of need. Her own desire built to dizzying heights as they moved to the sofa. He pushed her onto her back and covered her body, pressing into the wetness between her legs. She wrapped herself around him and cried out as he drove deep inside, thrusting hard and fast. Her orgasm was swift and intense, driving all thoughts of everything but his strong, sexy body from her consciousness. He withdrew and flipped her over, sliding inside from behind as he cupped her ass. She moaned and cried out, clutching her hands into fists, as he slid in and out slowly, torturing her with exquisite pleasure. “Not fair,” she gasped. He chuckled and continued kneading her ass cheeks in his strong hands as he drove into her, but still not the way she wanted it. She tried to move against him, urging him to go faster. He stopped and kissed the back of her neck. “No,” she said. “Keep going. Please.” “Patience, Rowena. We have all weekend.” She moaned when he finally started moving again. All she could do was lie there and enjoy it. She was trapped. Her orgasm built slowly as his thrusting became faster. Her moans became screams by the time she finally came. She felt him let go, and when he was finished he pulled her into his arms and held her close.

*** Waking sometime later, still in Van’s arms, Rowena gently unfolded herself to stand and shake out the tingling in her arms and legs. She’d never look at a sofa again in quite the same way. She used the bathroom, then sat on the floor in front of Van and ran her fingers along the fine golden hairs on his arm until he stirred. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice sleepy. “Time for round two.” He smiled, lifting up on one elbow. “Is that so? Which piece of furniture in this room should we desecrate next?” She didn’t care if they made love on the floor. She just wanted him inside her from behind again. The sensations it had produced were mind-blowing. “How about if I bend over a chair or something?” Van made a sound that was partly a groan, partly a gasp. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to have my cock buried in your pussy that deep?” Rowena laughed as a thrill ran through her. “Well, no, since I’m not a guy I don’t know, but if it feels as good to you as it did to me, I think I can guess.” She straddled him on the sofa, their lips and

tongues driving each other to distraction, then leaned back to let him rake his teeth and tongue over her nipples. “Van, I can’t stand it. I need you inside me. Please.” She pressed her hips forward, rubbing her pussy against his swollen cock. “You have no patience tonight. I like that.” He shifted them both sideways and let go of her so she fell back on the sofa, then buried his face between her legs. She didn’t even try to hold off the orgasm. She let it wash over her as his tongue and fingers worked their magic, filling her with that delicious melting sensation she loved so much. He held her until she stopped trembling, then pulled her to her feet and led her to the chair. She giggled as he draped her over the back of it. “You find this funny?” he asked, rubbing his cock against her. “No, it’s heaven.” She tilted her ass up and he slipped two fingers inside her, forcing soft moans from her. His other hand found her left breast, and he gently kneaded it as he guided his cock into her. He buried himself deep, then pulled out almost to the tip, and kept repeating the pattern, slowly, until she beat her fists against the chair, begging him to go faster. His other hand came around to cup her right breast, and his breath was hot against her ear. “Say it,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.” “Fuck me,” she begged. “Fuck me hard.”

He obliged. His thrusts were deep and quick, sending shock waves of pleasure through her entire body. His balls slammed against her thighs, and his breathing was harsh and ragged in her ear. The sensation of being trapped by his hands on her breasts and his cock inside her, pinning her to the chair back, sent her over the edge. She was his prisoner, forced to submit. Her climax was so strong she was only dimly aware of screaming his name, over and over, and still he wasn’t finished. She drank in the pleasure of him filling her body, writhing against him and moaning softly as the next orgasm drew close. When she finally hurled over the precipice, this time he came with her. As she drifted off to sleep, their bodies sprawled on the bed, where they hadn’t even bothered to crawl under the covers, she thought she heard him whisper something, but it was lost in the wisp of a dream.

Chapter Sixteen Van watched Rowena open one eye, wishing time would stand still. He never wanted to leave this feeling, right now, of everything in its perfect place. “What time is it?” she asked him, peering around his shoulders toward the alarm clock. “Time for this.” He rolled her onto her back and pinned her wrists above her head, covering her mouth in a hungry kiss. She wrapped her legs around him, and he stroked her hair and face, sending shivers down his spine. The tenderness in her eyes nearly stopped his heart. Had she heard what he said last night? He groaned when a soft knock sounded. “It’s breakfast,” she said. “I asked them to bring it up to us.” He nuzzled her neck. ”Good. I’m starving.” She threw a pillow at him as he rolled out of bed and pulled on his jeans. He took the tray and carried it back into the bedroom, nearly dropping it when he saw the bikini Rowena had put on. Lime green, it set off her eyes. “How do you expect me to eat with you wearing that?” She laughed and threw a gauze cover-up around her shoulders, then opened the curtains and stepped

out onto the balcony. He followed, placing the tray on the table between them. “This is heaven,” he said. ”It’ll be hard to go back on Sunday.” “I know. I wish we could just freeze it right here.” She looked at him so intently he nearly dropped the eggs off his fork. “Me too, Rowena.” If she’d heard him say he loved her, she gave no indication of it this morning. Disappointment flooded through him. Should he tell her now, in the harsh light of day, or would it upset her? What if she had heard him and was just pretending she hadn’t? No. She wouldn’t do that. Rowena confronted things head-on. “Van, what’s wrong? You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Are you worried about the house?” He forced a smile. “Not today. This weekend is just for us. What would you like to do after we eat?” She glanced at the water, already dotted with small boats. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s explore the lake.”

Rowena leaned back in the rowboat, stretched out her legs, and admired the muscles in Van’s arms as he worked the oars. They stayed close to the edge of the

lake because the middle was filled with speedboats and water skiers. She ran a bare foot up his leg, and he grinned. Her bikini bottom was already clinging to her skin. All she had to do was look at him and she was horny. “It’s getting warm out,” she said. The June sun beat down on them. “It was already pretty hot this morning.” She giggled, teasing him with her foot, then leaned over and scooped a handful of water toward his head. “Maybe you need cooling off.” The grin on his face turned wicked, and before Rowena could react he leaned over the side and sent a large wave of water toward her, soaking her. She jumped up, swayed, and would have fallen overboard if Van hadn’t grabbed her legs and pulled her back down. She looked up into his beautiful blue eyes, wishing this weekend would last forever. The memory what he’d whispered last night as she drifted off to sleep came back, dim and hazy. Had she really heard him say he loved her, or had she only imagined it? “You saved my life,” she said. He raised a hand, tipping an imaginary hat. “Glad to be of service, ma’am.” She ran a hand through his hair. “How can I ever repay you?”

His lips found her neck, planting soft kisses. “Oh, I’ll think of something.” *** They ate lunch in one of the gardens, and Rowena impressed Van by identifying several birdcalls. He accused her of making some up, until an elderly couple sitting at a nearby table assured him she was correct. They insisted on joining Van and Rowena, explaining they were avid bird watchers About ten minutes into the couple’s diatribe, Rowena watched Van’s eyes glaze over, so she scooted closer to him and placed a hand on his thigh, under the table where the couple couldn’t see. Every few minutes she ran her hand up to the bulge in his pants and stroked him. She had to bite the inside of her cheek more than once when the couple obviously mistook his wide-eyed look for fascination with their words, rather than surprise at Rowena’s touch. By the time the couple finally excused themselves an hour and a half later, Van’s forehead was bathed in sweat. “I don’t know whether to thank you or put you over my knee for giving me such a raging hard-on in public.” She nuzzled his neck. “Why not do both?”

“What have you done to me?” he asked softly. His gaze was intent, searching. “Are you upset about what I’ve done to you?” she whispered. He shook his head. “No way. I love it.” Unspoken questions hung in the air between them. “I love it too, Van.” They looked into each other’s eyes for long moments. Rowena held her breath. Van looked like he was about to say something just as their waiter appeared to clear the plates. He took her hand and let her to their room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Van kissed her rough and deep. She had to cling to him to keep from falling down. He slipped his fingers under the straps of her bikini bottom and tugged it off. After she stepped out of it, she pulled down his shorts and freed his throbbing cock. She stroked it, enjoying the way it came alive under her fingertips. Her body trembled with anticipation. When he started to pull off his shirt she reached for her top, but he stopped her. “Let me do that.” After he removed his shirt, he raked his teeth across the front of her bikini top, teasing her nipples. She tossed her head back and shook her hair, letting the sensations wash over her body. He finally removed the top and took her breasts, kneading them while teasing the nipples with his thumbs. She rubbed against his shaft, so close to an orgasm.

He knelt and grabbed her ass, pulling her pussy toward him. As his tongue found her wetness, she exploded in a crazy climax that had her clutching his hair to stay upright. Rising to his feet, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Rowena lay back and gathered Van into her arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his body as he slid inside. He moved slowly, teasing her, looking into her eyes with so much intensity she had to blink back tears. “I never want this to end,” he said. “Me either.” He leaned closer and captured her mouth in a kiss, his tongue ravishing while his cock thrust deep and hard. She held on and rode with him, moaning as another climax built. Before she could find release, he pulled out and flipped her sideways, bent one leg toward her chest, and plunged into her wetness again. The dam burst. She clutched at pillows as the orgasm overtook her. Van slowed his thrusting and gently fondled her breasts, finally moving down to her ass where he smacked her lightly. She giggled and grinned up at him. “Oh yeah, you said something earlier about putting me over your knee, didn’t you?” “You are the sexiest woman alive, Rowena. I can’t get enough of you.” “I hope you never do.”

He withdrew and rolled her onto her stomach, slipping inside from behind, stroking her ass while he thrust fast and hard. Rowena clutched at the sheets and squirmed against him, trying to draw him in deeper. Having him inside her this way drove her crazy with desire. When she came again he joined her, moaning her name over and over. As their breathing returned to normal he pulled her into his arms. She waited until she was sure he’d fallen asleep, then whispered into his ear, “I love you too, Van.”

Van poured another glass of wine for Rowena as she tasted her entree, eggplant parmesan. “Well?” he asked. The look on her face said it all. “Did I tell you this place was great?” “I can’t believe I never ate here.” “Better than Italian food in LA?” “Well,” she smiled, “Fig and Olive was fairly spectacular.” “You’ll have to take me sometime.” She took a sip of wine, but the movement didn’t hide her sudden frown. “Something I said?” “I’m not sure I want to go back to LA.” “Not even to see Tricia?”

Rowena pushed the food around on her plate with a fork and Van wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She flashed a quick smile. Too quick. And not genuine. “You didn’t. It’s just too soon to think about going back, but I do miss Tricia and Derrick.” “Any chance they could fly out here and visit?” “Tricia maybe, but I can’t imagine Derrick getting away for longer than a weekend, if even that.” He took her hands. “Let’s change the subject. Now that you’re home again, you must be looking forward to spending more time with your family.” Rowena laughed. “Van, you’ve just sent me from the frying pan into the fire with that statement.” “So, can I assume we won’t be hosting your parents, Emma, and her daughter for Christmas?” A sly smile spread over her face. “We? Christmas? It sounds like you plan to be around for a while.” He swallowed hard. Now would be the perfect time to tell her. They were in a nice restaurant, she wasn’t drunk, and he’d unwittingly steered the conversation into the perfect segue. But what if she’d heard him, and didn’t feel the same way, and that’s why she hadn’t said anything yet? He’d make a fool of himself and ruin their perfect weekend. “Or not,” she said, as seconds of silence ticked by.

“Rowena, I’m not going anywhere.” Her cell phone chirped, and Van fought the urge to throw it across the room. “Hi, Pop.” Van drained his wine glass and poured another. The carafe was empty so he signaled for the waiter. Rowena made small talk with her father as Van watched her body language become stiff and forced. Whatever had happened between them ten years ago when she left home right after high school obviously hadn’t yet resolved itself. “The house is coming along. Hey, before I forget, did Uncle Cal have a brother named William?” Van leaned forward in his seat, trying to hear Bill’s voice on the other end of the call. “Ponies? As in a numbers racket?” He glanced around quickly. “Rowena,” he whispered. “Let’s keep that to ourselves, OK?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, Pop, right?” The waiter brought another carafe of wine and Van filled her glass. It sounded like she’d need it after this conversation. “FBI. For real?” Rowena nodded as she listened to her father. “Korea. That’s too bad. Anything else you know about him?” After she ended the call, she drained her wine glass. Her eyes were bright, filled with the look

women get when they’re about to spill a juicy piece of gossip. “You are not going to believe this. Great-Uncle Cal was involved in some rather interesting schemes in the thirties and forties. Apparently my grandfather got drunk one Christmas and tried to tell Pop about it, but Uncle Cal gave him a look Pop said he’d never forget. Thought he’d kill my grandfather, right then and there.” “What kind of schemes?” “Numbers. He liked to play the ponies.” “And he hid the money in the walls?” “Had to. The FBI was after him for a while.” “Why was it still there if the FBI were after him?” “He said the FBI could never pin enough on him to search the house.” “Did he have a brother named William, by any chance?” “Yep. He died while serving in Korea.” Van lifted his glass. “Looks like we found out who owned the money.”

Chapter Seventeen Rowena’s cell woke her up. She rolled over and looked at the clock. They’d only been sleeping about an hour. Frowning, she glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Toni.” “What?” Next to her, Van sat up. “Hey, is everything all right?” asked Rowena, answering the call. “Rowena, all the lights were flickering so we called the police.” “Oh God.” “What is it?” asked Van. “She said something is going on with the lights…” Van rolled out of bed and started throwing his things into a duffel bag. “We’re on our way home now.” *** Rowena sipped coffee, grateful for the light traffic on the roads, and that Van had agreed to drive back to Creek Ridge. She played the phone conversation

with Toni over in her mind. Toni and Roger had pulled into the driveway earlier and saw the lights flickering from every window in the house. They thought at first the house was on fire, and all Toni could think about was getting inside to find Snowball. Rowena had almost dropped the phone when she heard Toni mention Snowball and a possible fire in the same sentence. Tommy called Van as they merged onto Interstate 77. Van put the phone on speaker so Rowena could hear the conversation. He explained that Toni had told him there were no cars in the driveway or parked near the house when she and Roger pulled in and saw the lights flickering. Tommy said by the time he arrived, Toni also informed them the lights had just stopped flickering on their own, about two minutes earlier. She and Roger saw no one leave the house, but they’d been standing out front the entire time so it was possible someone had gone out the back or side doors. Tommy again asked Van if anyone else had keys, and Van told him no. Tommy said he’d checked every nook and cranny in the house. There was no one there, and once again there were no signs of forced entry. The windows and doors were locked, including the basement ones. And Snowball was curled up on Rowena’s bed, sound asleep.

Rowena ran through possible scenarios in her mind but only one made any sense. No one else had keys. It had to be a problem with the wiring. Tommy had also told Van they’d dust for prints again, just to be sure, and he’d stay at the house until they arrived. After he ended the call, Rowena watched Van. He was giving his full concentration to driving. If she never made the cover of another rag mag she’d be perfectly content. Her dream of living in peaceful obscurity was why she’d moved home, and into the house that most reminded her of childhood. But now the cops had been called to it in the middle of the night. Again. Was incredible, mind-blowing sex enough to sustain her relationship with Van? He wanted no part of gossip. Were her neighbors taking cell phone pictures again? How long before one of those pictures made the local papers? What would Van do then? Taillights flashed ahead, and he braked, slowing to almost legal. She caught the reflective paint on the side of the state trooper’s car, parked near a bridge. After they rounded a curve Van sped up again.

Van tried to keep his eyes and thoughts on the dark road, but with each passing mile the task became more difficult. How could something be wrong with

the wiring? Electricity was Jason Monroe’s area, and he was good at. They’d never had a problem with the wiring in any other home they worked on. Jason. The urgent, no, angry was the better word, look in Jason’s eyes when he found that box floated into his head. He’d reacted the same way when they found the blueprints. And now something was wrong with the wiring. At least, that’s what Tommy believed. No signs of forced entry. Again. Van wanted to blame Trace Coleman for this. There had to be a way to implicate him, but how? He didn’t have a key. There’d been no indication anyone had been in the house tonight. What the hell was going on? His thoughts snapped back to Jason, but Van didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to believe one of his own crew was behind the things happening in the house. He’d check the main breaker box, test every freaking outlet in the house himself if he had to, and he’d find the problem. There was a logical explanation for this. He’d worked with his crew too long to have one of them screw him right under his nose. He glanced at Rowena. All her concentration seemed to be on the road ahead. They still had roughly two hours before they reached her house. It was now or never. He should have told her this a long time ago. If they had any chance of making this work

he needed to come clean about his past. All of it. He took a deep breath. “Are you up to talking?” She shifted in her seat to face him. “Absolutely.” “Do you remember Julio? He came with Tommy and Ben the night of that weird smell in your house.” She nodded. “He was my partner on the squad. On the night of the fire, we were heading up the stairwell toward the fourth floor to search for anyone still inside. I glanced across the street and saw Cheryl.” He could feel his pulse pounding. He gripped the steering wheel, surprised by how damp his hands were. “I should have stayed. I had a job do to, Rowena. But I was so shocked, and so pissed off, and in so much pain.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Van, it’s OK.” “No, it’s not. It’s not OK. I abandoned my post. I abandoned my partner.” The memories always came like a tidal wave, obliterating everything else, and this time was no different. He let them run their course, drawing strength from the warmth of her hand before continuing. “After I confronted them, I ran back to the building. Julio and Dave were carrying two bodies out.” He glanced over to see tears in her eyes. “Two girls. Twins. Twelve years old. Julio found them. On the fourth floor.” The image was burned into his brain. He’d take it to his grave. “Their parents

had left them home to go out on a date.” He didn’t realize there were tears on his cheeks until she tenderly brushed them away. “Van,” her voice was soft, soothing, “even if you’d been there, that doesn’t mean they would have lived.” “Their parents didn’t see it that way. No one saw it that way. Everyone in the crowd saw me run out of a burning building, then watched me yell at Cheryl and punch my former football coach in the face. And everyone saw me run back, but by then it was too late. In their minds, those girls wouldn’t have died if I’d stayed in that building and done my job.” Rowena shook her head. “No. That’s not fair.” “Fair or not, that was the town’s take on it. Steve was under pressure to fire me, and my dad nearly lost his business.” “Is that why you quit?” He nodded. “Their parents filed a lawsuit against the city and me. The city settled, and their attorney got me dismissed from the suit, but only on the condition they either fire me or I quit.” “Oh, Van, I’m so sorry.” “I couldn’t go back anyway, Rowena. I’d never have trusted myself on the job again. I went to work for my dad after that.” “But I don’t understand why your father almost lost his business. Because you went to work for him, or because of all that stuff with your uncle?”

Van took a deep breath and willed himself to stop shaking. He wiped his eyes. “Probably a little of both. About two years earlier, my Uncle Mark, Dad’s brother, was in some trouble with his debts. He handled the accounting end of the business back then. Dad started getting complaints from customers, asking why our prices for materials kept going up from what they were originally quoted at the start of the job.” “I remember Jake telling me part of this story.” “He did some investigating and discovered Uncle Mark was billing customers more for materials than we were paying, then pocketing the profits. He had two sets of books. The story broke a few months before the fire, and it only made the papers to begin with because my uncle was stupid enough to do it to one of the town council members, and he went public with the story.” “And then when the fire happened…” “Exactly. The local papers dredged up my uncle’s misdeeds, and suddenly the Whitneys were trouble. It didn’t help they had a picture of me in Coach Templeton’s face, or that he sued me for assault and battery.” “What the hell? He was with your wife.” Her understanding and empathy brought a fresh wave of guilt. He’d been all pissy with her over Brett, whom she met before she was old enough to legally

drink, and here she sat, listening to him talk about the low point in his life, without passing judgment or condemnation. He had a sudden urge to kiss her into oblivion. “He eventually dropped the suit. I think Cheryl had something to do with that.” “Van I’m so sorry.” “I’m surprised you never heard about this.” “Did it make the news outside of Creek Ridge?” “I don’t know. Probably not. I thought maybe Jake or Mike would have said something to you.” “Van, you weren’t responsible for those girls dying. You know that, right? I mean, isn’t it possible they were already dead when Julio got to that floor? You said the building was completely involved when you got there.” He knew she was right, but no one else had seen it that way. “What about the coroner’s report?” she asked. “Smoke inhalation. So yeah, it’s possible.” “But that doesn’t change their perception, does it?” she asked softly. He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t. Can you understand now why I don’t want any part of gossip?” “I understand, Van. I really do. I know it’s not the same thing because no one died, but the horrible things people wrote about me when I filed suit against Brett…he’s the star. I’m not. So even though

he totally invaded my privacy and screwed my career, I was the bad guy for taking him to court.” He hadn’t considered that aspect of it until she said it out loud. “Rowena. I should have been there for you when we were in school. I should have seen you for the friend you were.” She blinked a few times, and wiped the emotion from her face. Had he said the wrong thing? “I didn’t want you to be just a friend. Because of that bet, I finally realized you only wanted sex, and that even if we had made love back then, it wouldn’t have meant anything to you.” “I know. Rowena, I’m so sorry for that. I really am. But I meant what I said about your friendship. I shouldn’t have ignored you, and I shouldn’t have let my friends treat you like shit. You were always there for me. I did see it. You weren’t invisible.” “Really?” Her cheeks were wet now. “Really. I was too busy basking in adoration to see the girl who was right in front of me. I should have been there for you.” “You’re there for me now, today. Thank you.” He smiled, wishing they weren’t speeding along a highway. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her forever. “All you need now is a white horse,” she said. “Yeah, Prince Charming. That’s me. Just don’t ask

me to wear tights, OK?” “Oh I don’t know…you might look kind of sexy in them.” He couldn’t help but laugh. She grabbed his free hand and squeezed it tight. Had she heard his whisper last night? He was certain she’d been asleep, or he wouldn’t have said it. He didn’t want to freak her out or push too hard. She’d been through hell. He realized that now. Should have realized it much sooner, but now that he understood, he wasn’t about to do or say anything that would drive her away. He loved her. Totally and completely head-overheels loved her. He had since the night of the Corn Festival. There was no use trying to deny it. Brett Fontaine was history. He’d hurt her and used her, but now he couldn’t touch her. She wasn’t in Hollywood, living some sort of fantasy life. She was here, in Ohio, with him.

Chapter Eighteen Van pulled in the driveway and parked next to Tommy’s squad car. He greeted them in the foyer looking like he hadn’t slept in a week, and Van told him so. “Been a long weekend,” he said. “I was about to go home when Toni’s call came through.” “What happened?” asked Rowena, dropping her bag on the floor. “Wish I knew. Your friends said they pulled into the driveway and lights were flickering from every window.” He handed Rowena the key she’d given Toni. “By the time I got here, they’d stopped. I’ll let you know if they find any new prints in the house.” “Let’s check out the breaker box,” said Van, heading for the back bedroom where he’d left his tools. Rowena and Tommy followed. When he’d retrieved his voltage tester, he led them into the basement. They watched him check the main power box and the lines going out to the rest of the house. He explained the tedious task of trying to find a break in a line or a short circuit. “It’ll take me a while,” he said. “I want to check every outlet, light and appliance in the house.” “Do you need me anymore tonight?” asked

Tommy. Van shook his hand. “Go get some sleep, Tommy. And thanks again.” “I should put you both on speed dial,” said Tommy, as he climbed the basement stairs. “Van, what the hell is going on?” Rowena’s voice shook. He pulled her into his arms. “I have no idea, but I promise you I will find out.” *** Rowena woke to the smell of coffee. Snowball stretched and looked at her with reproach. “I’m sorry I left you all weekend.” She scratched under her chin. “I sure wish you could talk. You know what happened last night, don’t you?” Rowena Sommers’ Cat Snowball Tells All! She found Van in the kitchen, on his hands and knees, testing the outlets. “Good morning,” she said. “I didn’t even hear you get up.” “The coffee is fresh. I’m almost done with the main floor. Everything in the basement checks out.” “How long have you been up?” She poured herself a cup, inhaling the rich aroma. The man sure knew how to make killer coffee. “A few hours.”

“What happens if you don’t find anything?” He stood and looked into her eyes. Worry lines creased his brow. “I have no idea. Guess I’ll have to ask Jason what he thinks is going on.” “Jason?” The hair on the back of Rowena’s neck prickled. “He’s the electrical expert on my crew. He supervised the rewiring of your house.” As they eyed each other, Rowena watched the same questions running through her mind flit across his face. “You suspect him, don’t you?” Van sighed. “Rowena, I don’t know what the hell to think right now.” He pulled over a chair and turned it around, straddling it. “How did Toni sound last night when she called you?” Rowena sat across from him and took another sip of coffee. “What do you mean?” “I mean did she sound tired, or possibly drunk?” “Van.” “I’m serious. I wish I knew exactly what she saw.” “She said she saw all the lights flickering.” “Did it storm here last night?” “You know it didn’t. It’s not like her to panic and call the police over nothing. She told me she thought the house was on fire.” “I’m just wondering if she didn’t see something else, and only thought it was coming from the house.”

“Like what?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I have no clue.” “Want me to call her and ask again?” Van glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even eight. “No. And yes. But maybe wait until later. I don’t know.” “Maybe the neighbors saw something?” she offered. “Maybe, but they haven’t exactly been helpful up to this point. I half expected to see them outside when we arrived, taking pictures.” “So did I.” She rose from her chair. “I’m going to get some work done while you finish.” She was climbing the stairs when Van’s voice stopped her. “Will you do me a favor this week?” “Sure. What is it?” He appeared around the corner. “Will you stay home and work? I know it’s inconvenient, but I want you to help me watch Jason.” Rowena squeezed the handle on her coffee cup so it wouldn’t slip from her fingers. “What am I watching for?” “I don’t know. Anything. Something unusual. Even if you think it’s nothing.” “Of course.” She’d do anything to help him. This was her house, and if one of his crew was screwing with it, she wanted to know. His response was a killer smile that made her

panties moist. As tired as she was, she’d rather take him back upstairs and burn up the bed sheets than stand here and discuss Jason. She also wanted to tell him she’d heard his whispered words the other night, and that she loved him too. Only this time she’d tell him when he was awake. She almost had, early this morning as they finally climbed into bed to get some sleep, but she decided to hold it inside a bit longer. Saying “I love you” had brought her nothing but misery in the past. *** By that evening Van had finished checking every outlet, ceiling fixture, and table lamp in the house. He checked the outside outlets and even the porch lights. He couldn’t find one freaking thing wrong. Jason called to tell him he had to go out of town for a family funeral. Van told him to take the entire week off. After he hung up, he tried to remember if Jason had family out of town, but didn’t recall him ever mentioning any. Even without Jason in the house, Van found it difficult to concentrate during the next couple of days. He caught himself watching his crew with a measured eye. For the first time since they started this project, he wasn’t comfortable having them in so

many parts of the house at once. He didn’t want to believe Jason could be helping a punk like Trace Coleman, but he began to wonder how much both of them knew about this house and Rowena’s Uncle Cal. What had actually happened with the lights Saturday night? No one else had a key. That fact bothered him more than anything. He couldn’t work it out. Denise Malcolm stopped over after noon on Tuesday, her kids in tow, asking if Rowena was home. Her face was flushed and worry lines creased her brow. “She’s upstairs, working. Second floor of the tower.” “Go find Daddy,” she said to her children, “but stay out of everyone’s way. I’ll only be a few minutes.” “Denise, is everything all right?” She averted her gaze and ran up the stairs, and it was then Van noticed a magazine in her hands. More gossip? He hoped not. Rowena didn’t need that right now.

Rowena looked up, surprised to see Denise, concerned by the distress on her face. “Hi. What’s wrong?”

Denise thrust the latest copy of Celebrity at her. “You need to see this before Van does. I’m so sorry, Rowena.” Rowena stared at the grainy picture on the front, and at first didn’t understand how it could be there. Then she remembered standing outside with Van as they talked to Tommy the night Van thought something was burning. She wore her lavender capris, and an old shirt that was buttoned off-center. Her hair was a tangled mess. The picture looked like she’d thrown on whatever was closest, and had been rolling around in bed minutes before. It had to have been taken from her yard, because she remembered standing with her back to the street. This clearly showed both hers and Van’s faces, which meant that someone had walked up the driveway and snapped it without being noticed, or they came into the yard from the park. Rowena read the caption: Police and Fire called to Rowena Sommers’ Home, and the tag line underneath: Who is this mystery man? We have the EXCLUSIVE story! “So what?” She held it out to Denise. “This is old news. My neighbors were out snapping pictures that night. They did the same thing when my power went out and someone was in the basement.” Denise lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. “You need to read the whole story.”

The article started with the night Van thought something was burning and called the fire department. Whoever wrote it had read the fire and police reports from that night, and the police report from the night her power went out. Well, those were easy enough to get, and she was about to say so when she turned the page and gasped. Grainy photographs of her and Van were spread across the page. Two were taken at the Corn Festival. One showed them holding hands as they walked, and the other showed Van kissing her. Three appeared to have been taken the night the police and fire were there. It would be easy to draw the conclusion she and Van were a couple, and that he routinely spent the night at her home. The others included both their high school yearbook pictures, one of Van in his football uniform, and one of Rowena accepting a history essay award she’d won in her junior year. The article continued on the next page, and Rowena groaned when she saw the picture at the top. Van and Cheryl’s wedding picture stared at her, above two paragraphs detailing the marriage and subsequent divorce. Halfway down the page was a photo of Cheryl in a man’s shirt, standing across the street from a burning apartment building. Right next to her was Coach Templeton, his arm encircling her waist. The article went on to say that Van’s former high school

football coach, Peter Templeton, had declined to comment, but their sources indicated Cheryl had been in the coach’s apartment that night. Rowena breathed a sigh of relief that the article didn’t mention the dead twins. Van didn’t need that dredged up again, but this was bad enough even without it. It was no longer only her life on display for the whole world. He was in this too. Exactly what she’d hoped would never happen. The next two paragraphs detailed Van’s company, and the fact they were restoring Rowena’s house. The author made sure to tell his readers Van’s car had been spotted parked in her driveway overnight, and proved it with yet another photo. It ended with the statement, Is Vance Whitney remodeling Rowena? in big, bold letters. She tossed the magazine on the bed and looked into Denise’s eyes. “This will never go away, will it?” *** Rowena reached across the mahogany table and took Van’s hands. “I’m sorry about the article.” “Please stop saying that. It wasn’t your doing.” “If I hadn’t come back home, and we weren’t involved, this wouldn’t have happened to you.” Van was about to say something when their

waiter appeared with drinks and salads. Rowena watched the young man’s face, looking for any indication he recognized them. Van hadn’t left her house the rest of the week after reading the article in Celebrity, except to pick up his mail and bring over fresh clothes. Rowena finally talked him into going out to dinner, insisting he needed to get away from Creek Ridge for one evening. Since Tuesday afternoon, the day Celebrity hit the stands, her neighbors had found excuses to stop by. It was the first time since she’d moved back home over two months ago that any of them had expressed interest in seeing the progress on the house. Van and his crew stayed well into the evenings because they couldn’t get any work done with all the interruptions. They were behind schedule, and Van wasn’t happy about it. “How did you find this place?” he asked, looking around. “Toni told me about it. She said it attracts mostly attorneys and executives. Not the sort of crowd who reads gossip magazines.” “Thank her for me, will you?” She hated seeing him like this, defeated and worn out. His shoulder slumped, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his heart-stopping grin hadn’t shown itself all week. “You can thank her yourself. I invited her and Roger to dinner tomorrow night.”

He didn’t answer. “I was hoping to talk you into grilling something. Maybe tuna steak and veggies?” “You don’t have a grill.” “I will after dinner. We’re going shopping.” Van put his hand over his throat and made gagging noises. The couple at the table next to them glanced over, frowning. Rowena pulled his hand away and stifled a laugh. “Stop that. You want them to kick us out?” “Shopping? You want to take me shopping? First you drag to me to dinner in a stuffy restaurant, and now you’re going to make me traipse through Home Depot?” “You can look at tools or tape measures. I’ll pick out the grill.” He took a bite of his salad. “You will do no such thing.” “Oh, what, I can’t pick out a grill?” “No, you can’t.” “Your chauvinism guarantees you’ll have to go with me then.” She stuffed a forkful of salad into her mouth. He narrowed his eyes at her, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you for this, Rowena. Getting out was a great idea.” Rowena chewed her salad and watched the servers move with deliberate, unhurried movements

among the tables. She didn’t care for the atmosphere in here, too dark and formal for her taste, but the food was good, and the place had an aura of discretion about it. Toni had come through for them. “It’s going to be OK, Van. You’re the one who told me people move on, remember?” He put down his fork. “I did say that. But that was before my business got dragged into it. If they found out about Cheryl and Coach, there’s nothing to stop them from finding the rest of the story.” She tried to think of something to say to ease his mind, but he was right. This wasn’t going to go away. She was actually surprised they hadn’t printed anything about the dead twins. Maybe they were saving it for next week? She pushed the thought away. He looked at the table and shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time, Rowena. They’ll dig it up.” The waiter brought their entrees, and waited until Van sliced into his steak to make sure it was cooked the way he ordered. “I don’t like being labeled the mystery man,” he said as the waiter walked away. Rowena glanced around. Several people eyed them with expressions ranging from amusement to outright annoyance. “Maybe we should discuss this another time?” She lowered her voice. “We’re supposed to be having an evening away from all that.”

Van stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. “You’re the one who brought it up.” Rowena chewed her chicken, glaring at him. “I most certainly did not. You’ve been moping around for days. It was my idea to go out tonight. I even picked the place, making sure it was someplace where no one would recognize us. Stab. Bite. “So what am I supposed to do now, Rowena? Hide from my adoring public? Is that what you learned to do in LA?” “I didn’t have an adoring public. Brett did.” She took a large bite of chicken so she wouldn’t be able to speak for a few seconds. She was dangerously close to stabbing him with her fork instead of the poultry. “Oh, that’s nice. Really. Very classy. Bring him up right now.” She swallowed her chicken too fast and her throat burned. “What? It’s the truth. You asked me if I learned to ignore my adoring public in LA, and I told you I didn’t have one.” “I don’t want to hear Brett’s name again.” “Fine. You won’t.” So much for a romantic dinner away from everything, and so much for her plan to tell him she was in love with him. She’d waited all week to tell him. Now, her chicken tasted like cardboard and tears stung her eyes. She pushed the asparagus around on the plate, her appetite gone. “I’ll be right back.”

She stared into the restroom mirror and willed herself to calm down. The last thing she’d wanted to do tonight was argue with Van. He wasn’t used to dealing with gossip the way she was. Yes, he’d had his share, but not for eight consecutive years like she had. Then she remembered this was the first time his name had been mentioned in anything other than the local paper, with a circulation of less than five thousand, and the magnitude of how the article in Celebrity could impact his business hit her. Celebrity was read around the world. Her house wasn’t the only project Van’s business had going, although she knew it was the largest job they’d ever done. And now it might be the last. People were fickle. An article like this could make them wary of hiring his company, especially if the story of those twins surfaced again. She didn’t want him to lose his business. If that happened, she’d blame herself. On the heels of that realization came another. They weren’t just words. She was truly in love with him. Totally and completely. He had changed. He was the Van of her childhood, all grown up and sexy and wonderful. She’d fallen head-over-heels in love with Van Whitney, and nothing would ever be the same again. “Are you all right?” he asked, as soon as she returned to the table. “I’m fine.”

He pushed his plate away. “It’s so goddamn unfair.” “I know.” “You’re used to this. It won’t impact you the same way.” “Excuse me?” Their waiter appeared, picked up their plates, and fixed Van with a hard stare. “Is there anything else I can get the two of you?” The implication in his voice was crystal clear. “We’re done,” said Rowena. “You can bring the check.”

Chapter Nineteen “Do you still want to buy a grill?” Van asked, once they were in his Mercedes. “Yes.” They drove in silence. Rowena stared out the window at the clear, darkening sky. There was something magical about a warm summer night. She recalled her first year in LA, before she met Brett, when she and her roommate would take walks along the beach under starlit skies like this one, dreaming about fame and fortune. Rowena missed the sound of waves crashing over rocks and seagulls and the warm sunshine of Southern California. She sighed and rested her chin on her hand. This was the first time since coming home that she’d been homesick for LA. Not a good sign. “What are you thinking about?” Van’s question snapped her back to the present. She couldn’t tell him she’d been missing California. “What you said in the restaurant about this impacting me more than you.” Not exactly a lie. She’d been thinking about that as well. “You’re used to this. I’m not.” Rowena shifted in her seat to face him. For this

evening he’d abandoned his trademark jeans and polo shirt, and donned a pair of dress slacks and a button-down shirt. His sport coat lay across the back seat. No matter what he wore, he was drop-dead gorgeous and seductive. Had he meant those whispered words last weekend? Or had it merely been something uttered in the afterglow of hot sex? “I don’t think that’s fair, Van. I came home to escape the gossip and it seems I can’t. All I wanted was a life away from it.” “This could hurt my business.” “So what do you want me to do? I can’t stop people from taking pictures.” “How did the pictures your neighbors took get to Celebrity?” “I have no idea.” He exited the freeway and drove toward the mall. “It’s not fair,” he repeated. All the anger bubbled up, and she could feel herself losing control, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t her fault, and she wasn’t going to let him blame her for it. “Fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Having your parents tell you what a disappointment you are to them when you decide to pursue a dream, then refuse to drive you to the airport, even though you’re moving to the other end of the country.” “Rowena…” “Falling for a second-rate director who dumps

you a year later and then tells you the reason he’s dumping you is because you don’t look good enough on his arm for the cameras isn’t fair. Living with someone who cheats on you every time he goes on location isn’t fair. Seeing your name in the tabloids, with tag lines like ‘Is this the end for Rowena?’ or ‘Who’s keeping Rowena’s bed warm while Brett plays in Spain?’ isn’t fair.” He stopped at a red light and opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t through. He was going to listen to her tell him what an impact real gossip had, whether he freaking liked it or not. “Do you know what it was like when he’d come back from location? ‘Rowena, I’m sorry. Rowena, she meant nothing. Rowena, it’s you I want.’ Blah, blah, blah. And it was all a lie. Every goddamn thing he said was a lie. And I stayed with him through the crap for six years. Six years, Van, because I was stupid enough to believe he’d come to his senses one day.” Tears streamed down her cheeks but she barely noticed. Van pulled into the mall parking lot and headed straight for the darkest, most deserted corner, and still she couldn’t hold it in. The compulsion to tell him the reality of her life in LA was strong, as if she had to purge the old Rowena. The one who’d been naive enough to let a man treat her like nothing for so long. “Do you have any idea how lonely I was? I had

no one to talk to. My parents told me I deserved it. That I’d chosen my life. Tricia was the only one. The only one besides Jake who didn’t judge. And Tricia didn’t snicker behind my back or have that look in her eyes. I thought I had other friends but I was dead wrong. You think Tiffany and Becca are evil? They can’t hold a candle to Hollywood bitches. No one can talk sweet to your face then trash you as soon as your back is turned like they can.” She took a deep breath and brushed away the tears. “I couldn’t go to the grocery story, Van. Everywhere I looked my face was plastered on magazines, next to pictures of Brett with some bimbo actress in a string bikini on a beach or with his arm around someone else, dressed to the nines while walking into a restaurant or a hotel or climbing out of a limo. I was a joke. Poor Rowena, country bumpkin from Creek Ridge Ohio, trying to live the glamorous Hollywood life. And I was naive and foolish enough to believe I could rise above it with my costume designs!” “Rowena, I’m sorry…” “So don’t you sit there and talk to me about fair. No one broke into your e-mail account and doctored your messages and then plastered them all over the Internet. Personal conversations about producers and directors and other actors that were between you and your friends. You weren’t blackballed in your

profession the way I was. You didn’t have reporters in your face for a year, every time you tried to meet with your attorney or walk into a courtroom to deal with endless postponements and posturing by Brett and his team of high-priced lawyers.” “But you…” Her stomach cramped and sweat broke out on her forehead, but she ignored it. “And then, when I finally won my court case, I had to deal with the comments about how I’d taken him to the cleaners. They didn’t care that he’d broken my heart or made dozens of phone calls to ensure I’d never work again.” She could barely breathe. “All because I dared to issue him an ultimatum. I told him to make a choice. Them or me. And do you know what he said?” Bile rose in her throat, but still she continued. “He said I had no right to demand anything from him. That he’d given me a place to stay and clothes to wear and…and that I had no right to demand he stay faithful.” She stopped herself from telling Van the other things Brett had said. Things about their sex life that she’d never be able to tell him. The bile was coming in waves now, and her stomach heaved violently. She needed air. He’d turned off the ignition, so she couldn’t get the window open. She yanked open the car door and

stumbled in the parking lot, tripping on a pothole and breaking the heel of her very expensive, Italian leather pump. “Godammit!” She heard Van open the car door, and heard his shoes on the pavement, but the world was upside down and for some strange reason the stars were straight ahead, not up in the sky, like they should be. “It’s OK.” His voice was soft and soothing, but the pavement beneath her head was hot and unyielding. The nausea rolled over her like a storm surge. She tried to fight it, but there was no point. She was going to puke. She shuddered as the food made its way up her esophagus. Van rolled her onto her side as the chicken and salad shot onto the blacktop. “It’s all right, Rowena. You’re OK.” She tried to sit up, only to be assaulted with more pain, causing her to double over. Van’s arms were around her, holding her, while fresh sobs racked her body. *** Van woke early Saturday morning to the sound of Snowball’s soft meowing, and opened the bedroom door to let her scurry downstairs. He glanced at Rowena, curled up on her side the way a child might

sleep. There was no point in waking her yet. He followed Snowball downstairs and fed her, then turned on the espresso maker. While he waited for the coffee to brew, he wandered through the rooms, making a mental note of what needed to be moved in each room as they started on the flooring this week. When he returned to the kitchen and sat down to drink his coffee, Snowball jumped on the table, offering her chin to Van. He absently scratched it while he mused over everything Rowena had said to him last night. When she’d first started in on him, he’d been really pissed. But then when she started to cry, and it was obvious she’d been carrying around all that hurt and anger for years, guilt overwhelmed him. He’d been so wrapped up in his own self-pity this past week, he never considered how the recent article might have affected her. When she told him she’d been with Brett for six years, and described her day-to-day life, the isolation and loneliness, his heart had nearly burst. The woman raging about not being able to go to the store or having any friends wasn’t the same carefree, fun Rowena he’d grown up with. She’d come home to find that person again, and instead she’d been thrust back into the limelight. And what had he done to ease the pain of this latest gossip? He ruined the romantic dinner she

planned for him because of his frustration at being in Celebrity. He was a cretin. A selfish, stupid cretin. And he knew, at that instant, if he ever came face-to-face with Brett Fontaine, he’d deck the bastard for what he put Rowena through. After drinking two cups of coffee he checked on her, but she was still asleep. Moving slowly so he wouldn’t wake her, he kissed her hair, lingering a second to watch the rise and fall of her body. He turned off the espresso machine, left a note on the nightstand, and drove to Home Depot. He’d buy her the best damn grill they had, and then later he’d make a fabulous dinner for their guests. *** Rowena woke up, and for a few seconds thought the squealing noises had started again. She sat up when she realized it was her cell phone ringing. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, she answered Tricia’s call. “Hey, sorry. I was still sleeping. What time is it?” “Rowena, are you all right?” “Yeah. Just a stupid argument last night, I’m sure…” Her voice trailed off as she picked up Van’s note. He’d gone to Home Depot to buy her a grill. Oh wow.

“No, I mean this morning.” “Tricia, I’m not following you.” “Oh God. You don’t know.” Rowena was suddenly wide awake. Icy fear began to wrap itself around her heart. “Don’t know what?” “Sweetie I don’t even know how to tell you this. Is Van there?” “He’s at Home Depot. What’s going on?” Rowena tried to slow her heart rate. “Go online.” Rowena launched her browser and waited for her home page to load. There was her name in the list of news stories, right next to a headline that made her stomach cramp even worse than it had last night. Nude photos of Rowena Sommers surface. Brett Fontaine denies involvement. “Oh God, no. No, God, please. Tricia, what should I do? Oh my God.” “It’s OK, Rowena, I’m here.” “Where are they? What website? Are they in the papers yet?” “A website called Exposé. But please don’t go to it.” “I have to. Give me the address.” Tricia told her the site but she had to type it in three times because her fingers kept slipping off the track pad. She swiped at the moisture on her cheek as

the site loaded. Shaking her head, she forced herself to scroll through them. How could he have done this? Weren’t the e-mails bad enough? Why do this now? “I’m going to kill him.” “Rowena, his publicist has issued a statement saying he had nothing to do with it.” “Who else would do this?” “Is it possible he sent them to someone?” “Who? And why? I don’t know. Oh God, my parents.” “Call your attorney, hon.” “Should I?” “Yes.” Rowena dialed Walt Goodman’s number, and his receptionist transferred her to his personal cell as soon as Rowena gave her name. “I’m on it, Rowena. We’ve taken steps to have the pictures removed, to force the site’s owner to reveal who sent them to him, and to bring Brett back into court for violating the gag order. But all that will take time.” “So it was Brett.” “Until he can prove otherwise, I’m assuming it was. He is the one who took them, right?” “Yes.” A wave of revulsion washed over her at the memory. That sick bastard. He’d promised her, swore on his dead mother’s grave, that the pictures would never show up anywhere.

“What should I do?” she asked. “How soon can you get to LA? There’s damage control to attend to, and it will be easier if you’re here. He’s holding a press conference tomorrow and I think you should be there.” By the time she’d booked a flight and packed a bag, she heard Van’s voice downstairs. “I’m up here,” she called. How would she look him in the eyes? He burst into the room, his face contorted into something between rage and disgust. “I just got phone calls from three guys on my crew. Tell me it’s not true.” Her heart sank. It was over. He’d never forgive this. And his business would be ruined. “Van, I don’t know what to say.” She dropped onto the bed. He glanced at the suitcase, and the rage turned to confusion. “Where are you going?” “To LA. My—“ “You’re going back to California?” “What? No. Listen to me. My attorney said I need to get there. I’ll have to go back to court. He violated the gag order.” “You actually let Brett Fontaine take naked pictures of you?” “It was years ago. I have to catch a plane.” She forced herself to look up into his beautiful blue eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Will you keep me posted on the house? I’ve already called Toni. She’s coming

to get Snowball so you won’t have to worry about her.” “I’ll watch Snowball.” The last thing she’d ever wanted to do was hurt him. She should have stayed away. Never should have let anything happen between them. But things had happened, and he needed to know the truth. No matter what, she wanted him to know. She took a deep breath. “Van, I heard you that night in the hotel room. When you whispered I love you, Rowena.” He didn’t answer. Just stared at her as if he didn’t even know who she was. “I want you to know something. I love you too. I always have. Ever since we were kids.” He shook his head slightly, and his eyes went cold. “Rowena, I can’t talk about that right now. I just can’t. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

The ride to the airport was the longest twenty minutes of Van’s life. He wanted to turn around and take her straight back to the house and hide her from the rest of the world. Especially Brett Fontaine. He’d never be able to get the image of her posing nude for another man out of his head. But she loved him. She had since they were kids. Good Lord. She’d actually said the words, and he’d

told her he couldn’t deal with it right now. That much was true. He felt violated and betrayed, even though a very loud voice in his head reminded him it wasn’t her fault Brett Fontaine had decided to screw her again. Maybe he should fly to California with her and take care of Mr. Fontaine, once and for all? She hugged him before walking into the terminal, and he knew he should say something, but he only managed to wish her a safe flight. The pain in her eyes tore his heart right out of his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d dragged him back into the limelight. How long before he no longer had a business? He might as well take his time on her house because it would be the last job he’d ever get in this town. She passed through the automatic doors, laptop bag slung over her shoulder, pulling a Coach suitcase on wheels, and he actually took a few steps forward. The compulsion to beg her not to get on the plane was so strong. Rowena. Beautiful, sexy, fun Rowena. His Rowena, was gone. And he had let her go.

Chapter Twenty Rowena stepped out of the terminal at LAX and into Tricia’s arms. She breathed in the scent of Chanel’s Allure Sensuelle, the only perfume Tricia ever wore, and the tears she’d been holding back ever since her quick goodbye with Van at Hopkins airport finally came. When Tricia released her, Rowena looked into her best friend’s eyes and felt her muscles begin to relax. Just being in her presence again gave her strength. Strong hands took hold of each arm and whisked her into a waiting limo. She caught a quick glimpse of Derrick’s dark eyes, as well as the scarred face of Terk, Derrick’s big, bad bodyguard. She was back among friends. As the limo glided away from the curb, Derrick put his arm around her. “Sorry about the manhandling, but we wanted to get out of there before someone recognized you. So far, the press has no idea you’re here.” Rowena wiped her eyes. “Are we going straight to your house?” “Yes,” said Derrick. “Walt is waiting for you to plan strategy.” “You guys are the best.”

“How is Van taking this?” asked Tricia. “Not well. We didn’t speak on the drive to the airport.” “But I thought he was watching the house and Snowball?” Derrick frowned in confusion. “He is,” said Tricia, giving him a look that said ‘shut up now.’ “So what are you saying, Derrick? That just because he agreed to watch my cat he’s all right with this?” Derrick shrugged. “If I saw nude pics of Tricia online, I’d be more pissed off for what it would do to her than to me.” “Give Van some time, hon,” said Tricia. “It’s a lot for him to take in right now.” “He could lose his business,” said Rowena. “But that’s not your fault,” said Tricia, gently. “You can’t control the reactions of the townsfolk.” “No, but I never should have let anything happen between us. Then his name wouldn’t be tied with mine.” Tricia grinned. “As if you could have helped yourself.” “What does that mean?” “It means I heard it in your voice the day you moved in and called to tell me he was the contractor Mike called.” Rowena couldn’t argue with that. She’d been

toast the minute their eyes had met that first day. She realized that now. Their becoming involved was a foregone conclusion. But it had all backfired in the worst possible way. “If anyone is to blame, it’s Brett, not you,” said Derrick. “He’ll slide out of this without a scratch, like he always does,” said Rowena, balling her hands into fists. She pictured punching him in the crotch. Or better yet, his face. Knock all those expensive caps out of his lying mouth. “He’s holding a press conference tomorrow. Walt thinks you should be there,” said Tricia. “Yeah, he told me that. But what am I supposed to do? Confront Brett in front of cameras? No way.” “No, not confront him. He wants the public to see you standing up for yourself,” said Derrick. “I don’t understand.” “Rowena, you have to appear strong and confident right now. You’re the victim here, same as when you took him to court. Don’t let people paint you as the bad guy again.” Rowena shook her head. “So it’s still about the money? Doesn’t anyone care that what he did was just plain wrong?” “No,” said Derrick, “they don’t. Because they don’t see what he did as wrong. Not in this town, anyway. He’s infallible.”

“So why will they see him sending nude pictures of me to a website as wrong?” A look passed between Derrick and Tricia. “I don’t know, hon,” Tricia said. “But we’ll come up with something.” *** Van drove straight to the Saloon after leaving the airport. He wasn’t ready to go back to Rowena’s house. There was nothing to do there except think about her or think about what he’d do once the business went under. He considered going to his own home, but the thought of sitting there alone, watching TV, was too depressing. He took a seat on the nearest stool and Dan put a beer in front of him. “Don’t see you in here much anymore,” Dan said. “Been busy restoring Rowena’s house.” Dan nodded, and Van held his breath, waiting for Dan to mention the pictures. Did the whole town know by now? Dan didn’t say another word. Just moved down the bar to talk to the other customers. Van absently watched the Indians’ game on TV while he tried to sort everything out. How long had Brett Fontaine been sitting on those pictures? Why hadn’t he sent them out last year,

along with her personal e-mails? And why would he be stupid enough to violate a court order? He must have known she’d do something about it. A commercial for a local funeral parlor jogged Van’s memory. “Hey Dan, you ever hear Jason Monroe talk about having family out of town?” Dan frowned. “No. Why?” “He’s been out of town all week for a funeral.” “No he hasn’t. Not all week anyway.” Van almost dropped the beer bottle he was holding. “How do you know that?” “He was in Texas Roadhouse out at Northtown mall two or three nights ago. I took the wife out for her birthday. That ghost hunter guy was with him. Trace somebody.” “Did he see you?” Van forced his voice to stay calm. Dan shook his head, then was called to the other end of the bar. Van’s mind raced. Jason had never gone out of town. And he knew Trace Coleman. Bobby, Johnny Dingo, and Jeff Masterston walked in together and stopped dead in their tracks when they spotted Van. He waved to them. “Come on over guys. I could use someone to talk to.” “Sure, sure, Van.” Bobby took the stool next to him, and Johnny and Jeff pulled stools over to sit behind Bobby and Van. “You OK?” Bobby still hadn’t made eye contact.

“I’m guessing you guys all looked at the pictures.” Van didn’t see any point in acting coy. “Sorry,” said Johnny. Van had known Johnny since he was a kid living next door. He was one of the few guys on his crew who hadn’t been on the football team. “I should kick all your asses for doing so,” said Van. “Other than the fact I’m dating her, she’s a client.” “Is she all right?” asked Jeff. Jeff had been the best defensive back Creek Ridge High had seen in decades. If he hadn’t torn up his knee in their senior year he’d be pro right now. But three surgeries later his NFL dreams were over. He still walked with a limp. “She’s in California,” said Van. Bobby frowned. “Is she coming back?” “Well, I sure hope so, Bobby. Although would you blame her if she didn’t? People haven’t exactly welcomed her with open arms, have they?” Bobby took a slug of beer. “Guess she never forgave us for that bet.” “It was me she needed to forgive, not the rest of you,” said Van. “This could be bad when it hits the papers,” said Bobby, quietly. Van stared at him until Bobby finally met his eyes. “I know, Bobby. I’m sorry. I’ll do what I can, but

you know how this town is.” The three of them looked at each other, then at Van. “So, let’s do something about it,” said Jeff. “Like what?” asked Van. “I don’t know, but this job is all I have. If we don’t fight back, who will?” Johnny drained his beer and slammed the empty bottle on the bar. “I’m with Jeff. If it hits the papers, we fight back.” “Don’t know if there’s much we can do to save the business,” said Bobby, “but I think we owe Rowena support, at the very least.” He looked from Jeff to Johnny. “Don’t you think so too?” Van nearly fell off his stool. Bobby had been the most outspoken kid at the party where the guys dared Van to try to get to first base with Rowena. In fact, Van wasn’t entirely certain since the memory of the party was a bit fuzzy, but the bet itself might have been Bobby’s idea. “Bobby, I don’t know what to say, man.” Bobby lowered his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Don’t say nothin’. Just know we got your back, and hers too.” “What made you change your mind about her?” asked Van softly. Bobby glanced up, and Van had to bite his tongue not to laugh at the look on his ruddy face. He was clearly embarrassed. “Well Van, and don’t kick my

ass for saying this, but well, Rowena is great, you know? I mean she makes us coffee every morning and she’s not in our way or anything when she’s home and well, you love her. Don’t you?” Van sucked in a deep breath. He was truly touched by Bobby’s insight. “Yeah,” said Johnny, “and Bobby don’t mean the way you tried to convince us you loved Cheryl. This is different. Way different. We all see it.” “We shouldn’t have looked at her naked pictures,” said Jeff. “Sorry about that.” “Thanks, guys. I mean that. I don’t know what to say.” Johnny clapped him on the back. “Don’t go blubbering or anything or we’ll have to kick your ass.” “I’d like to see you try it.” “Hey, they hit a home run!” Bobby pointed toward the TV, and the guys turned to watch the game. Van thought about the scene at the airport, and suddenly wanted to call her. He wanted to know if she was all right, and if she was with Tricia and Derrick right now. He should have said something when she told him she loved him. It must have been difficult for her to say that. Had she told Brett Fontaine that once? Probably. And the creep had turned it against her in the worst possible way. Twice.

Van ran a hand through his hair as he realized what he’d done to her today. When she needed him, really needed him, he’d pushed her away. How did that make him any better than Brett Fontaine? What if she never came back? And even if she did, what if she decided she was tired of trying to explain her past and told him they were through? He’d asked her to let go of his, but he hadn’t done the same with hers. He stood up. “I have to go, guys. Thanks again.” “I have to get home too,” said Bobby. “I promised Denise just one beer tonight. I’ll walk out with you.” Van opened the door and stopped, nearly colliding with Bobby. A Channel 5 news van was parked directly across the street. Two men in jeans and polo shirts lounged against the hood, talking and gesturing toward the south end of the street. “Oh shit,” whispered Bobby. “Come on. Let’s go around back.” Van followed Bobby back into the bar and out the back door, where the smell nearly made him gag. When was the last time Dan had the trash picked up? “You think they’re looking for Rowena?” asked Van. Bobby’s dark eyes grew wide. “Or you.” “Goddamn. What the hell do I do? I need to get back to her house.” “They’ll go there. And if they see your car…”

Van kicked a beer can. “Son-of-a-bitch.” “Park it at my house and walk over.” “Huh?” “Park your car in my garage. Denise won’t mind. Then walk over to Rowena’s house. It’s only two streets over. Go through the back yards. No one will care.” Van chuckled. “Bobby, that’s the best idea I’ve heard you come up with since…since forever.” *** Rowena poured herself a third glass of wine, knowing she was already drunk and not caring. Her old room, the one she’d slept in for a year, was just upstairs. As soon as Walt finished telling her more bad news she’d crawl into bed. Maybe when she woke up she’d find this was all a horrible dream. She sneaked another peek at her phone. No calls. It was already evening in Ohio. She felt certain Van would have called by now. For all he knew her plane had crashed. Didn’t he even care if she was safe? Ever since she stepped off the plane she’d wanted to call him, but between Derrick and Tricia’s false assurances everything would be all right, and Walt’s harping on her about damage control, she hadn’t had two minutes to herself.

“Are you listening to me?” Walt’s nasal voice was on Rowena’s last nerve. Sure, the man had helped her win a boatload of money a few months ago, but she never imagined she’d be looking into his beady gray eyes again so soon, if ever. “I’m sorry. What was that last thing you mentioned?” “The press conference tomorrow at eleven.” Walt frowned at the glass poised below her lips. “You’ll want to look fresh. Rested. Wear something conservative.” “Don’t worry, Walt. I’ll look the part. I remember how to do that.” “Rowena, this isn’t a joke.” “I’m not taking it as one, OK? But I’m more than a little upset by all this. Van could lose his business because of me.” “You keep talking about Van and his business as though it has something to do with you. It doesn’t.” She slammed the glass down, sloshing wine onto Tricia’s dining room table. “It has everything to do with me.” Walt leaned forward. “Rowena, I’m telling you this as your attorney and as a friend. Put Ohio out of your mind. If you have any chance of saving your reputation, we have to play this right tomorrow.” “My reputation? Walt, the entire country watched me win twenty million dollars from one of the biggest

stars in Hollywood because he sent doctored e-mails to my industry contacts, and do you know what they said? Do you?” “I know what—” “They said I was wrong to do it. Me, not him. Do you honestly think they’ll see this as something terrible? They’ll laugh at me. They’ll say I deserved it, and so what if the entire country has now seen me naked? What designer suit I wear at the press conference tomorrow can’t fix this. My reputation is shot.”

Chapter Twenty-One Van felt ridiculous sneaking through backyards, but he had to admit Bobby’s idea was brilliant. He opened the gate at the back of Rowena’s property and sprinted behind the garage. Peering around the corner, he caught the glow of Cathy Hill’s cigarette tip across the street on her porch, and watched as a black Mustang cruised slowly past. Trace Coleman. He watched a few more minutes, half expecting to see Jason drive by as well. When it started to rain, he ran to the back door and let himself in, where Snowball rubbed his leg and meowed loudly. “I know girl,” he said, reaching down to scratch under her chin. “I miss her too.” He opened his cell and called Denny Trowers. “I need a huge favor.” “Sure. What’s up?” Van explained Jason’s reaction when he found the lockbox, what he and Rowena discovered inside it, and the blueprints they’d found. Then he told him what Rowena had found on Uncle Cal’s brother, William. “You want me to dig into Jason’s background, or her uncle’s?” “Both. And see if there’s a connection between the

families. Oh, and Trace Coleman is definitely involved in this.” He told Denny what Dan Jeffries had said about Jason having dinner with Trace, and how many times he’d seen Trace’s car driving past the house. “Denny, I need this really fast. Rowena is in a jam.” “What’s going on?” Denny’s voice was sharp with concern. “More trouble out in California. I don’t want her to come home to any more nasty surprises.” If she comes home at all, that is. “I’m on it, Van.” “Thanks, man. I owe you big time for this.” Van took his laptop into the dining room. Time to do a little digging on his own. Snowball rubbed his leg, then jumped on the table and curled up next to his left arm. He stretched as thunder rumbled in the distance, rising to close the windows as a strong breeze blew in. It was going to storm. “Might as well make myself some coffee, Snowball. It’s going to be a long night.” While he waited for the coffee maker to drip enough for one cup, lightning flashed. He couldn’t remember if all the upstairs windows were closed. He’d check them in a minute. Coffee first. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and lightning flashed several times. As he reached over to turn off the coffee maker so it wouldn’t fry in a power surge,

cold fear wrapped itself around his heart. It wasn’t lightning. The kitchen lights were flickering. The coffee cup slipped from his hand and broke at the same time Snowball meowed loudly from the dining room. He walked into the room and closed his laptop as he watched the lights on the ceiling fan. They were flickering as well. “What the hell is going on?” Is this what Toni and Roger saw last weekend? He pulled out his cell and called Johnny Dingo, the one person on his crew who knew almost as much about electricity as Jason. Snowball followed him around the first floor as he turned on every overhead light and table lamp. They all flickered, as if someone was flipping a wall switch up and down as fast as possible. He went into the basement and turned on the overhead lights. They flickered as well. As he ran up the stairs, a high-pitched scream erupted. Van’s first thought was an owl, but when it ripped through the air again, he thought it might be a cat, and turned to find Snowball. She was right behind him, flattening her ears at the noise. He walked through the upstairs rooms, turning lights on. They all flickered. The screams continued, only now they sounded more like the squeals Rowena had first described. He stood in the middle of the hallway, listening. They seemed to be coming from the attic, on the south side of the house.

He heard a car pull into the driveway and sprinted downstairs to open the front door to let Johnny in. As he did, he glanced into the parlor. The table lamp stopped flickering and stayed lit. “What the fuck?” “What’s up, Van?” asked Johnny, taking the porch steps two at a time. “I have no fucking clue.” Van explained what he’d seen and heard as Johnny followed him through the rooms. They tested every light, watched it burn steady, then tried each a few more times, just to be sure. It was then Van realized the noises had stopped as well. “I’m totally stumped here,” he told Johnny. He explained what Toni and Roger had described last weekend, and told Johnny how he’d checked every outlet and light himself with a voltage tester. Then he told Johnny about the noises. “Van, this is totally nuts.” “I know. But I have to figure it out before Rowena gets back. Will you help me check out the attic? That seems to be where the noise was coming from.” They grabbed flashlights and climbed the pulldown stairs. The wooden planks that had been laid to provide a surface on which to sit or kneel when they fed wires into the walls were still in place. Van stepped carefully as he shone his flashlight on the southern slope, tracing each roof joist into the

eaves as far as possible. Johnny crossed to the opposite end of the slope and did the same. He wanted to get a closer look. Inching along, he balanced on the two-by-eight, squatting down to shine his light into the space. Nothing but blown-in insulation. The scream sounded again, and Van jumped, banging his head on a joist. “Jesus Christ!” “You OK?” asked Johnny. “Yeah. Just didn’t expect that.” He moved to the next beam, again squatting down to shine his light into the eave. He waited for the sound again. This time it came from directly in front of him. “Bingo,” he shouted. “What? What do you see?” “Nothing, but I think I know the source of the scream.” “What is it?” He stood up, and carefully backed up the beam. “It’s outside.” He counted beams as they made their way to the trap door opening. Van went into the basement and retrieved an extension ladder and a tape measure. Johnny followed him out the back door, where Van handed him the end of the tape measure. “Hold this for me.” Rain fell softly, and the thunder had moved off in the distance. He pulled the tape measure out to where he believed the beam he’d been kneeling on was located, then set up the ladder. Taking his flashlight

with him as he climbed the rungs, he shone it into the eaves, just as the scream erupted one more time. He yelled, almost losing his grip on the ladder. His ears rang. “Van,” called Johnny. “There’s someone in the trees.” Van gripped the ladder, turning the flashlight toward the park. “Where?” He swept the flashlight back and forth, but the beam illuminated only leaves and twigs. “He’s gone now,” he called down. “Did you see him?” asked Johnny. “No, but I found something else.” He reached up under the slope of the roof and pulled out a small speaker. Whoever Johnny saw in the trees had been controlling it, probably with a transmitter. He descended the ladder and handed Johnny the speaker and flashlight, then opened his cell phone and called Denny. *** Rowena woke up and rolled over, reaching for Van. He wasn’t there. She sat up and tried to remember where she was. Hugging her knees to her chest, she took a deep breath to stop her racing heart. She reached for her cell phone. Nothing. No calls or text messages.

What time was it in Ohio? Almost eleven in the morning. It was Sunday, but he’d certainly be up by now. Was he thinking about her at all? She’d meant to call him last evening, but after Walt left Tricia made popcorn and smores, and together they watched every chick flick in the house and stuffed themselves with junk food and more wine. They talked about grade school, middle school, and high school. They reminisced about lost loves and crushes on men they’d never met and debated the therapeutic properties of dark chocolate versus butter. When the conversation turned to sex, they both laughed so hard they could barely breathe. Somewhere between talking about doing it doggie style and which vibrators lasted longer, batteries or rechargeable, they switched from wine to tequila. By the time Rowena fell asleep it was nearly midnight. Three more hours until the press conference. And then what? She had no idea. She crossed the room and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the smell of the Pacific Ocean. The sound of the waves soothed her, and the angry cry of the gulls took her back in time. California had been her home for ten years, and yet it was Ohio she now missed. The only good things that had come from her time here were the two people living in this house, Derrick and Tricia. Everything else was sordid,

fake, and cruel. She lowered herself into a canvas lawn chair and watched the birds swoop over the sand below. Van would love this. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she retrieved her cell phone. A text message wouldn’t make her look needy, would it? But what to say? She debated for close to ten minutes before finally deciding to keep it simple. I miss you. She added a heart, then waited another ten minutes before hitting Send. She took her time in the shower, only because she had nothing else to do. Derrick had hidden her laptop last night so she couldn’t go online and read the stories that had most likely popped up all day. Rowena knew he and Tricia were trying to protect her, but she also realized Walt had been right about her needing to stand strong in the face of public humiliation. It was time to show the world she wasn’t the bad guy here. To that end, she dressed to please herself, not her attorney. A short Betsey Johnson spaghetti strap pencil dress and sandals to match. The vibrant mauve cabbage roses and turquoise leaves stood out against the dark gray background of the fabric, making her hair look like the color of a fine burgundy. Just enough black lace lined the top of her cleavage, giving the suggestion of sexy lingerie underneath. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed the final look

in a full-length mirror. Conservative? Not even close. Provocative? You bet. Confident and bold? Check and double check. This was who she was, and this was what Brett Fontaine and his adoring public would see. Van would love this dress. Not that she’d be wearing it for long if he saw her in it. Her breath caught in her throat as a vivid image of them making love rose up in her mind. She pushed it away. No tears today. If she’d lost him, then she’d deal with that when she got back to Ohio. This morning she would show everyone that Rowena Sommers wasn’t cowering in fear and humiliation. Not this time. She sauntered into the dining room, following the smell of eggs and coffee. Derrick wolf whistled when she walked in. Tricia said, “Oh holy fuck, Rowena.” Rowena laughed as she poured herself a cup of coffee and filled her plate with eggs, sausage, and Rosita’s cranberry muffins, which she’d been craving ever since leaving LA. She sat across from her best friend and smiled. “Walt is going to shit his pants,” said Tricia. “I don’t care.” “Why?” asked Tricia, her eyes dancing with intrigue. “Because this is who I am and I’m tired of hiding.” “Hot damn!” said Derrick. “It’s about time.”

Tricia shot him a look, then reached across the table and took Rowena’s hand. “You know I love you and will support you, no matter what, right?” Rowena nodded. “Then I’m behind you on this. I just pray it doesn’t backfire.” “It won’t,” said Rowena. Rowena was upstairs putting the final touches on her makeup when her cell phone rang. She jumped slightly and answered it without looking at the caller ID, convinced it would be Van. “He’s postponed the press conference and wants to meet with you,” said Walt. “What? Why?” Her disappointment at the call not being from Van made her voice sound tight and bitchy, but she didn’t care. “He insists he had nothing to do with it and needs to leave for Japan in two days. He doesn’t want this hanging over his head.” “What’s going on?” asked Tricia, poking her head into the room. Rowena put the phone on speaker and placed it on the dresser top. “Brett wants to meet with me. The press conference has been postponed.” “Why?” asked Tricia. “Will you meet with him, Rowena?” asked Walt. Rowena glanced at Tricia. “Only if Tricia and

Derrick can come with me.” “I’ll tell them that’s the only way you’ll do it then. One hour, my office.” *** Rowena took a seat at the gleaming mahogany table in the firm of Richmond, Sotherby, and Goldman, and tried not to remember the first time she’d been there, over a year ago. Just as she had that day, she sat flanked by Derrick and Tricia. All her fantasies of posing for the cameras, smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world, went right out the window as soon as she heard Brett’s voice in the hallway. As she stood to face him, Tricia gave her hand a squeeze. Tall, not quite as tall as Van though, his dark hair still cut in a fashion that was about twenty years too young for his face, and big eyes the color of melted chocolate. His gaze roamed over her dress, not bothering to conceal lust, and finally settled on her face. “Well, don’t you look delicious,” he drawled. Whatever Rowena had expected to feel, it wasn’t this. Her skin crawled. She’d lived with this man for six years, and had imagined herself as his wife, sharing a home and a dog, and maybe even children. She’d been in love with him, and with the way he

way he wielded power and charm with a glance or a word. She took in the Hugo Boss trousers, the matching black shirt with a Kent collar, buttoned all the way to the top, and his signature Italian loafers, black, of course. He looked like the devil himself. There was no rush of warmth to her groin, no feeling of breathlessness, and no fluttering in her chest. There was only…nothing. Absolutely nothing. His attorney, a small constipated-looking man, cleared his throat. “Let’s all sit down, shall we?” Rowena leaned back in the leather chair and crossed her legs. As she’d expected he would, Brett craned his neck to stare at them. “We all know why we’re here,” said his attorney, whose name had escaped Rowena for the moment. “Mr. Fontaine has insisted he’s not responsible for the surfacing of recent photos of Miss Sommers.” “Then how did they get online?” asked Walt, his voice slicing through the room like steel. The man was annoying as hell one-on-one, but when he got in front of others, especially in a court room or a conference room, he went straight for the jugular. “Mr. Fontaine doesn’t know. In fact, Mr. Fontaine can’t say for certain where these particular photos originated.” His attorney’s name came back to her in a flash. Marvin Harbinger. “Oh cut the crap, Marvin. He

knows exactly where those photos originated. He’s the one who took them.” “Rowena, be quiet.” Walt’s voice was cold. She ignored him, turning her attention to Brett. “Don’t play with me, Brett. I’m done with it. Who did you send them to and why?” “Don’t answer that,” said Marvin. “Rowena, I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t sell them to anyone, and certainly not to Exposé.” He said the name of the website as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. He was a good actor. A terrific actor, actually, but if she studied the muscles around his mouth while he spoke, she could always tell when he was lying. “Sell? Who said anything about selling them? I asked you who you sent them to.” She tried not to grin as a muscle twitched in his left cheek. Rowena one, Brett zero. “Rowena, shut up,” said Walt. “We’re done here, Brett,” said Marvin, rising to his feet. She hadn’t flown across the country to let this go without a fight. He may not have sold them to Exposé, but he was the only one who could have sent them in the first place. As she watched those dark eyes flash, she suddenly knew when he’d sent them. Knew it as sure as she knew her own name. She leaned forward in her chair, lowering her

voice to a near-whisper. “You bastard. You sent them to someone last year along with the e-mails.” His jaw twitched and he looked to the left. The movement was quick, but she caught it. “Who?” she asked. The room erupted with the sound of both attorneys calling for their clients to stop talking, Tricia threatening to call the cops, and Derrick trying to convince Tricia to leave the room. Rowena kept her focus on Brett’s face, and in his eyes she saw the truth.

Chapter Twenty-Two Van opened the front door Sunday morning to let Johnny and Denny in. Behind Denny stood a man wearing a tool belt, whom Denny introduced him as Sam Powers. “Sam works for the City of Cleveland.” Van shook his hand. “Thanks for coming.” “Johnny,” asked Denny, “can you fill Sam in on what’s been happening with the lights and show him what you and Van found in the eaves last night? Van, come with me for a minute, will you?” Van followed Denny into the dining room, where he took a seat and watched Denny pull several pieces of paper from a large envelope. “I found some interesting things on her uncle’s family.” He looked at Van with a dour expression. “And on Jason Monroe. Do you know where he is, by the way?” “No idea. He told me he was attending a funeral and I gave him the week off.” “I think you should share this information with that local detective friend of yours.” Van sank into a chair. He hated the idea that Jason was involved. Up until last night when he saw the lights flickering, he’d been holding out hope that Jason having dinner with Trace Coleman was just a coincidence.

Denny picked up an official-looking document. “The FBI closed the file on Calvin Gallagher in the mid-sixties, but only because it was already forty years old by then and every possible trail had dried up.” “What were they after him for?” “Suspected bank robbery, money laundering, and gambling. He ran a numbers racket, along with his brother and a few other shady characters. You said Rowena told you her aunt believed this house was built with stolen money, right? It was.” “Denny, that’s…I don’t know what to say.” “They never found it though. Never found anything to hold Cal or William for very long, and no one else was talking. I imagine they watched them both, but after World War II a lot of these files were lost in the shuffle and never reopened.” Van leaned back in his chair. “And Uncle Cal lived the rest of his life in quiet, obscure Creek Ridge, Ohio, where no one knew the truth.” “Pretty much.” Van retrieved the letters Rowena had found and showed them to Denny. “Any idea what he meant by a five-gallon bucket?” Denny chuckled. “The walls are plaster, right?” Van frowned then smacked his forehead. He felt like an idiot. “Sure are. And to repair plaster you use, among other things, a five-gallon bucket.”

Denny narrowed his eyes. “Which means Aunt Loony knew what her husband and brother-in-law were up to. She may have even helped them hide the loot.” “Man. I can’t tell Rowena that.” “We’ll come back to that issue. Before I tell you how Trace Coleman and Jason Monroe figure into this, tell me what happened to the money and stocks that Jason found.” Van’s cell vibrated and he glanced at the screen. It was a text message from Rowena. Finally. He’d debated calling her since pulling away from the terminal in the airport because he hadn’t wanted to invade her privacy. It was hard to imagine what she was going through. The one-line text message said I miss you, and she’d added a heart. He missed her too. “Hang on a second, Denny, OK? I haven’t talked to her since yesterday afternoon.” Her phone went straight to voice mail, and he didn’t want to leave a message with Denny listening. He’d try her again later. “OK. Rowena put the money and stocks in a safe deposit box, but I’m not sure which bank. Not here in town, I know that much. The blueprints are in the trunk of my car…shit. It’s still at Bobby’s house.” “What?” Van explained about the news van and how he hadn’t wanted anyone to start snapping pictures of

his car in the driveway again. Denny stood up. “Let’s go and get them. And try to reach Tommy Farley while we’re on the way.” “He works a lot of late nights, but I’ll see if he’s up.” They went out the back door to find Sam and Johnny examining the electric meter on the south wall of the home. “What’s going on?” asked Van. “We pulled the panel off the breaker box in the basement and everything seems fine,” said Sam. “But what Johnny described sounds to me like someone hid something on here, or in the walls, to make the lights flicker.” “Say that again?” Van watched Sam run his hand along the outside of the meter box. “There are no shorts coming out of the box, but you both said all the lights were flickering at once. Is that right?” Van nodded. The back of his neck prickled. “Van, give me Tommy’s number,” said Denny. “I’ll call him.” Van scrolled through his contacts and gave Denny the number, then returned to watching Sam. “In order to produce that effect,” Sam continued, now examining the underside of the meter, “someone would have had to wire them with an interrupter. To control it, you’d need…hello there.” Sam straightened up and pointed. “Take a look.”

Van and Johnny bumped heads trying to look under the box at the same time. Johnny waved a hand toward Van. “Go ahead.” Sam showed Van a dime-sized photoelectric eye, just under the box, embedded in the cedar shingles. “There’s your answer,” he said. “Someone was out here last night, and all he had to do was aim a transmitter at this eye, like a remote control for a TV, to turn the circuit on and off.” *** “I want to talk to Rowena alone,” said Brett, glaring at Marvin. “You, her attorney and the Leebrookes leave the room.” “Out of the question,” said Walt, at the same time Marvin voiced his protest. “It’s not your call,” said Rowena, her eyes still on Brett’s face. “This isn’t a trial or a deposition.” Tricia and Derrick stood together. “We’ll be right outside,” Tricia said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, Walt. She knows what she’s doing.” Brett continued to glare at Marvin until he followed the group out of the room. Once the door was closed, he rose from his chair. “Sit down.” Rowena’s voice was hard. He hesitated for a second, but took his seat again,

leaning back in his chair to cross one ankle over the opposite knee. “Playing hardball with me? How brave.” “Shut the fuck up and listen to me, you piece of shit. Who did you send them to last year?” “I love it when you go all sailor mouth. You can’t do anything to me for sending them out, you know. Taking me to court last year was a package deal.” “I know that. I’m not an idiot.” “Then why do you want to know?” “Because whoever he is, he sold them to Exposé.” “He’s a nobody. A two-bit actor named George who tried to make a fool out of me in Madagascar. And now he’s made himself some easy money.” “What are you talking about?” “You don’t remember that? It was in Celebrity. We were shooting in Madagascar. She was the only leading lady of mine who ever said no.” Rowena forced herself not to smile. She remembered. Marisol somebody. She’d spurned his advances and the rag mags jumped on the story. And Marisol somebody hadn’t worked a day since. “What did George have to do with that?” “He was drunk on set one day. Tried to act all macho and told everyone I’d lost my touch, and said some very disparaging things about you, as well.” She shook her head, trying to make sense of all this. “Are you telling me that you sent him nude

pictures of me because he insulted your sexual prowess?” “He insulted you too.” Ah. There it was. The Brett Fontaine petulant voice. “So you wanted to prove to him you still had your mojo.” He beamed as if she’d just announced he won another Oscar. “Yes. Exactly. See? I knew you’d understand.” “I understand you’re more of an asshole than I ever realized.” He shrugged. “Hardly matters to me, Rowena. You can’t touch me.” She stood up. “We’re done here.” He jumped out of his chair and placed his hands on the table. “What are you going to do? Sue him? Or how about Exposé? You could drag them in too. Maybe you can get another twenty million. I don’t think you’ve had your name in the papers enough lately.” Something shifted inside, and instead of the world spinning like it should have, she felt peaceful. As if a puzzle she’d been trying to figure out for years had suddenly become clear. “You know what you are, Rowena? A no-talent costume designer who was lucky enough to have her name linked with a star for a few years. Look at you.” His eyes raked over her dress again. “Designer labels,

perfect hair, flawless makeup. You ran home to Ohio but you don’t belong there anymore. You’re a Hollywood creation, babe. And it’s all about the money now, isn’t it? That’s why you came here. To get me back into court.” She couldn’t even muster up enough emotion to feel angry. There was truth in his words. But he was wrong about one thing. She had no intention of suing anyone or taking him back to court. This was over. She was going home. Brett leaned closer, his eyes hungry, looking for a fight. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. She tried to feel something for him, even hatred, but it simply wasn’t there. She felt nothing. He was a dead zone. The only man whose face she wanted to be looking into was Van’s. *** “How do we disable it?” asked Van. He couldn’t take it all in. Jason must have done this. But why? “Tommy’s on his way over,” said Denny, snapping his phone shut. “He’ll need statements from all of you and from the rest of your crew. Can you call them? And we need to go get those blueprints.” “I’ll stay here and help Sam,” offered Johnny. “We have to cut out the drywall next to the

breaker box in the basement,” said Sam. “I think I know what we’ll find.” Van ran his hand through his hair. “OK, wait just a minute. This is too much at once.” He turned to Denny. “First tell me the rest of the story. How are Jason and Trace Coleman involved in this?” Denny sighed. “They’re cousins. Trace’s mother was married to Jason’s uncle, on his father’s side. They divorced when Jason was young, but the families let the boys keep in touch.” Van and Johnny exchanged startled glances. “Did you know this?” he asked Johnny. “Hell no. Jason never talked about his family.” “But why all this?” Van swept a hand toward the house. “William had a grandson who lived in an old house in Wellington. About six years ago, Trace investigated it. They got to talking about a certain home in Creek Ridge. Before he died, William had told his grandson a wild story about things stashed in that house.” “Oh my God. Rowena said Cathy Hill told her Trace had been trying to investigate this house for years,” said Van. “Of course he was,” said Denny. “To find the money and the stocks. And when he realized Jason was working on restoring it, they thought they could scare Rowena into letting Trace investigate.”

“That explains Jason’s reaction when the lockbox and blueprints were found,” said Van. He had no choice. He’d have to tell Rowena everything. “All right, Denny. Let’s go to Bobby’s to get the blueprints. I can ask for his help in calling the rest of the guys.” Denny drove Van over to Bobby’s house. Denise answered the door, frowning. “Are you all right?” “Not really. I need to get something out of my car.” “Oh, I thought you were here about Rowena on the news—” “What?” “It’s on right now. Come on.” She led the way into the living room where Bobby sat leaning forward, his hands on his knees. “We were flipping channels before the game started and came across this on CNN,” Denise explained. Van watched as Rowena filled the screen, dressed in a sexy flowered dress. She had a serene smile on her face, and was flanked by a tiny woman with long blonde hair and a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair. He recognized Derrick Leebrooke and guessed the blonde was Tricia. Behind her stood the same man he remembered from the picture in Celebrity, the one he’d assumed was Rowena’s attorney. As the camera panned away from her, the front of an office building in what appeared to be downtown

Los Angeles came into view. He recognized the Westin Bonaventure Hotel off to the side. The camera pulled back to reveal Brett Fontaine, standing a few feet in front of and at right angles to Rowena. Behind him stood a sober man in a dark suit who looked more like an undertaker than an attorney or a publicist. “Brett, will there be further litigation?” asked a female reported off-screen. “As I said before, Miss Sommers and I have worked out our differences in this matter and there will be no further litigation.” “But what about the pictures?” asked a male voice. “I have nothing else to say about them.” The camera panned back to Rowena, and the female reporter asked her about further litigation. “I’m not suing anyone,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile for the camera. “This matter is over as far as I’m concerned.” “But what about Exposé?” asked a different female voice. “It’s my understanding steps are being taken to have the photos removed from the website.” “Rowena, does this mean you and Brett have buried the hatchet?” “There’s nothing left to bury,” she said, flashing another smile. “It’s over.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Denise glance at him, but he kept his gaze on the TV screen. It was surreal to see her in LA, dressed like that, smiling and happy, as though everything were perfect, and her naked photos hadn’t been plastered all over the Internet less than two days ago. It appeared a lot had changed since they’d last spoken. “How about you, Brett? Any hard feelings?” asked another reported, as the camera panned back to him. “You heard her. We’re the best of friends.” Bobby swore under his breath. “Bullshit. They’re just mucking it up for the press,” he said. Van wished he could believe Bobby, but Rowena still had that smile plastered on her face. “Rowena? Any retort?” “Brett and I are through fighting,” she said, looking directly into the camera. There was a clarity in her eyes he’d never noticed before. What did that mean? They were “through fighting?” Was Bobby right and she was just putting on a show? “How long will you be in LA, Rowena?” “I’m not sure. It’s nice to see my best friends again.” She wasn’t sure? It was nice to see her best friends again? Where did that leave him? A rolling wave of pain tore through his chest and stomach. The camera panned back as Brett reached across

the reporters to extend a hand toward Rowena. A split second of hesitation crossed her face, then she shook his hand. Van kept his eyes glued to her, watching for something, anything, to tell him what she was really thinking or feeling. Brett leaned in and kissed her on the cheek closest to the camera, obscuring her face. Flashbulbs popped. He lingered there a bit too long for a quick peck on the cheek, and Van strained to see her body, but she was lost in a sea of reporters. When Brett finally pulled away, all Van saw were Derrick and Tricia crawling into a limo. Rowena must have gone in ahead of them. Denise switched on the baseball game, and Van was only dimly aware that Denny had left the room. Bobby mumbled something about his trunk, and Denise asked him something about the game, but all he could see was Brett Fontaine leaning in to kiss Rowena.

Chapter Twenty-Three Rowena wanted one more hug from Tricia before she had to take her place in the endless security line at LAX. “I wish I could stay,” she whispered. Tricia pulled back and smiled, pushing a stray lock of Rowena’s hair out of her face. “Your heart is back in Creek Ridge.” Rowena shook her head. “I don’t know what I’ll find when I get there. He never responded to my text message.” “It’ll work out the way it’s meant to, Rowena. Call me when you land. Love you.” Rowena leaned in for one more hug. “Love you too.” She tried to ignore the passengers staring at her in line, and she tried not to roll her eyes when the TSA agent made her stand off to one side while they searched her carry-on, item by item. When she found her gate and took a seat to wait for the flight, she opened her laptop and busied herself with catching up on the news. The photos were indeed gone, but that ridiculous kiss Brett had feigned was all over the Internet. She hoped Van hadn’t seen it. All Brett had actually done was brush his lips against her cheek and whispered

how hot she looked. She told him to fuck himself and he’d laughed softly in her ear. What the cameras didn’t capture was Derrick pulling her away and into the waiting limo, which left Brett standing in front of empty space. But as she watched the scene again, she realized it would be easy to get the wrong impression. Too easy. He certainly knew how to milk a publicity moment. She stretched and glanced around. A few waiting passengers gawked at her, but otherwise she felt safe for the moment. It’s not like reporters could crash a TSA security gate, especially at this airport. She had a rental car reserved at Hopkins, so she wouldn’t even have to walk outside once she landed. It would be after midnight when she got to Cleveland, but she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to go straight home. Van had promised to look after the house, but she didn’t know if he was sleeping there tonight. It would be too awkward to walk in and find him in her bed when they hadn’t talked in two days and with the unsettled way they’d left things. She’d have to talk to him eventually, but right now she had other things to attend to. Brett would never know this, but his little speech about her being a Hollywood creation had helped her make a decision about the money. She didn’t want it. It no longer felt right or noble to have it. In fact, any sense of justice she’d felt months ago, sitting in the courtroom and

listening to the judge speak to Brett in a condescending tone, was gone. All she felt was contentment, and a sense she’d finally buried the past. Money meant nothing to Brett, and now she knew she’d meant nothing to him either. The seven years she’d spent agonizing over his affairs had meant nothing to him. All the money in world would never change that. It was finally and completely over. Aunt Loony would be proud of her. Maybe even her parents and Emma would be. As soon as they got over the shock of the pictures. The e-mail she sent Toni contained a business proposal, put together over a week ago, but with one small change added today. Instead of ideas for raising capital, Rowena was offering to provide it. Toni’s business was growing, and she needed far more help and money than she realized when she’d first approached Rowena about working for her. Rowena wanted to be a partner in the business, not just an employee. It would be a chance to do something she loved, help a friend grow her business, and show everyone else that she could survive without Brett Fontaine, or Hollywood. As for the rest of the money, she’d keep enough to pay Van and his crew, and have a nest egg, just in case, but the high school had looked pretty shabby during her brief visit there a few weeks ago. She

explained in her e-mail to the Creek Ridge Board of Education that she didn’t want recognition. She simply wanted to help her community. Rowena closed her laptop and took a deep breath. She hadn’t felt this good about herself in years. Literally. It was time to find the girl she’d left behind in Ohio over ten years ago. It was time to be true to herself and stop living to please others. Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID, her heart racing. It was Jake. She almost didn’t answer it, but she knew he’d only worry if he couldn’t reach her. “Hey, you OK?” he asked. “I’m at the airport.” “You’re coming back already?” “Yes. Why? Did you think I’d stay?” “I was wondering if you were back with Brett after watching the news this afternoon.” Oh no… “Absolutely not. Please tell me you didn’t actually see the pictures.” “I didn’t, but Emma did. She took away Sasha’s phone and kept her off the computer until they were taken down.” “Oh, thank God. Do Mom and Pop know?” “Emma told them. I bitched her out for it.” “That’s great. What the hell? Why would she do that?”

Jake sighed into the phone. “Rowena, she isn’t going to change.” Her flight was called. “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” After she disconnected the call, she sent Van another text message before she turned off her phone for the flight. I’m on my way home. Can we please talk? *** Once Bobby and Denny retrieved the blueprints from Van’s car, Bobby helped Van call the rest of the crew and asked them to meet at Rowena’s house. Tommy showed up, looking more rested than the last time Van had seen him, and together he and Denny interviewed every member of Van’s crew. Tommy told Van the blueprints looked like the plans for a bank. He also asked him to let Rowena know he was taking them as evidence. “And as soon as you talk to her tell her I need that lockbox,” said Tommy. “I will. What do you think Trace or Jason will be charged with?” asked Van. Tommy shrugged. “Not sure. Criminal trespassing, perhaps. We’ll have to see how it plays out as we sift through the statements. I owe you and Rowena a huge apology. I should have listened to

you.” “You don’t owe me anything, Tommy.” “Yes, I do. Trace Coleman’s prints showed up in this house.” Van tried not to grin, but he couldn’t help it. It was also on the tip of his tongue to tell Tommy I told you so, but he didn’t. Just knowing he’d been right about Trace was enough. “Why were his prints in the system?” This time it was Tommy who grinned. “Remember all the complaints from homeowners that he manufactured the paranormal evidence? He ventured outside Ohio in his early days of ghost hunting and was arrested for breaking and entering near Pittsburgh.” “Bingo. I can’t wait to tell Rowena.” Tommy frowned. “How is she holding up, Van?” “I don’t know. We haven’t had time to speak since Friday.” “I hope it all works out.” “Thanks. So do I.” He wasn’t sure if Tommy knew about the pictures or had seen Rowena and Brett on the news, but he didn’t want to talk about either event. He didn’t want to talk at all. He just wanted to hold Rowena again, but he was no longer sure she wanted him. What use would she have for an ex-jock construction worker who couldn’t even meet her halfway?

She could have anyone she wanted. He’d never seen her look as beautiful as she had today on the news. She was a celebrity. And Brett Fontaine clearly wasn’t over her yet. Sam and Johnny had removed the drywall around the breaker box in the basement and found conduit running from the circuit breakers that supplied power to the outlets and house lights, running into a small box that contained the interrupter. Tommy and another officer bagged it, along with the speaker Van had found hidden in the eaves. “Would he have done this when we first rewired?” asked Van. “Probably,” said Sam. “Otherwise he would have had to go back into the wall.” “But that was almost two months ago. Why activate it now?” “They probably panicked when the lockbox was found and decided to escalate things,” suggested Tommy. “But if they were trying to scare Rowena, why did they use it the night Toni and Roger saw the lights flicker? No one was home.” “Did your crew know you were going out of town with her?” Van tried to remember. “Jason might have overheard,” said Johnny. “You

were in the dining room talking to her about it, and a group of us were in the back bedrooms cleaning up. We could hear you talking.” “That’s one explanation,” said Tommy. “They knew the house would be empty and were probably testing it to see if it worked. When Toni and Roger showed up, they left.” “And all they had to do was leave through the park. No one would see their cars from this street,” said Van. “Yes, that would work,” answered Tommy. Bobby was the last to leave, and it was nearly eight when he did. “What are you gonna do if Jason shows up for work in the morning?” he asked. “Call the police I guess. Won’t that be a kick in the seat?” “Yeah, that’ll suck. You hear from Rowena?” Van pulled out his phone. “No. I imagine she has a lot on her mind.” Then he remembered in the excitement of the day he’d forgotten to answer her text message or tried to call her again. “You two need to talk when she comes home.” “I know, Bobby. Thanks again for all your help today.” Van didn’t know what to do once Bobby left. There was no need to sleep at the house tonight. Tommy had promised there would be a patrol car cruising by during the night. The police were looking

for Jason and Trace Coleman. If they returned to the house, they’d be caught. Snowball would be fine alone for one night. He should go home and get some sleep. There was still work to be done in the morning, whether Rowena was here or not. He was tired. Too tired to think about Brett Fontaine kissing her or that dress she’d worn or the happy smile she showed for the cameras. God, he missed her.

Rowena drove toward Creek Ridge in the rental car. The plane had landed a half hour late, and now she’d be walking through her front door about one in the morning. Would Van be there? Her text message had gone unanswered again, and she had an uneasy feeling. What if something had happened to him? She wasn’t sure any of the guys would call and let her know, or if any of them even had her phone number. She drove slowly down the street, and as she approached the house a city cop car passed her, going in the opposite direction. They were probably checking out the park. Kids were always causing trouble there, especially on a warm night like this. When she saw Van’s car wasn’t in the driveway her heart started to race. What if he hadn’t returned after driving her to the airport, and Snowball had

been alone for two days? No. He would have called Toni or Roger and asked them to check on her. Or even Larry or Bobby. But what if something had happened to him and he couldn’t call anyone? He had the only other key. She sat in her driveway with the motor running, debating whether to drive over to his house, just to see if his car was there. She finally decided she was overtired and overreacting. Plus, she was worried about Snowball. Van would be here first thing in the morning to work. She let herself in the front door and flipped on the overhead light in the foyer. Snowball leaped off the sofa in the parlor and practically ran up her leg. She scooped her up and held her close, until a loud meow and a squirm told her Snowball was finished with the enthusiastic reunion. Walking through the downstairs, she looked for some evidence he’d been there since driving her to the airport on Friday. Snowball had fresh food and water and there were dishes drying in the rack next to the sink. Someone had been there. She hoped it had been Van. Unpacking could wait until the morning. She placed her laptop bag next to the bed and changed into a tank top and PJ bottoms, throwing the clothes she’d worn home into a pile. When she crawled into bed she pictured Van’s face.

*** Van woke from a horrible dream and for a second couldn’t remember where he was. His phone was ringing. He glanced at the alarm clock and frowned. It was two in the morning. Someone had better be dead or he was going to be very pissed off. “Van, where are you?” “I’m sleeping, Larry. Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” Van heard voices in the background. What the hell was he doing watching TV at this hour when he had to work in the morning? “I’m at Rowena’s house. The fire department is here. You’d better get here.” He dropped the phone. When he picked it up again Larry was still talking. Something about a cat. Snowball. Oh my God. “Larry, did you tell them her cat is inside?” He pulled on his clothes as he tried to cradle the phone against one shoulder. “Rowena’s inside too.” “What?” Van had to fight to keep from passing out. He couldn’t remember ever being this afraid. “Apparently she came home last night. A neighbor saw smoke and called 9-1-1.”

Van found her text message as he pulled out of the driveway. If he’d waited a bit longer before turning off his phone he wouldn’t have left the house. He’d be there with her. There was no one at the next cross street so he ran the red light. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her. This was his fault. Scenes from their shared childhood flashed through his mind as he sped down empty streets. Playing pirates with her and Jake in the tower, climbing the tree in Aunt Loony’s front yard, kissing her on her parents’ front porch after their first date, and remembering how he didn’t want to stop. Watching her peek around the fence at football practice, and wanting to go over and talk to her, but knowing he’d be taunted if he did. Walking slowly toward him in Aunt Loony’s driveway the day she moved in, wearing that chocolate-colored tank top with toenails painted to match. Holding her as they made love in the tower. Her laughter, sweet and tinkling. The way she always held his hand in public, just as if they were still teens. And the look in her beautiful green eyes Friday as she told him she loved him. I love you too. I always have. Ever since we were kids. Oh Lord. He was so in love with her. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not before they actually had a chance to make this work.

There were so many vehicles in front of her home he had to park several houses away. As he ran to the yard he watched smoke pouring from the third and fourth floors of the tower. Van groaned, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, looking for a familiar face. He finally spotted Julio. “What happened? Where’s Rowena? What’s going on?” “She’s on her way to the hospital, Van. They pulled her out from the second floor.” “What about her cat?” She was safe. Thank God she was safe. “She told us to look under the bed but we didn’t find it.” “Give me some gear.” He started toward the truck, but Julio pulled him back. “I don’t think so.” “This is my fault. I have to find her cat. I can’t let this happen. She loves that cat.” Julio shook his head. “Please, man. Please let me do this.” Julio glanced around and lowered his voice. “My name stays out of this, understood?” Van suited up and went in through the back door, dropping to the floor and sweeping his beam around. He hadn’t forgotten any of his training. He heard voices upstairs. Where would Snowball hide? Under Rowena’s bed. But they’d already looked there.

He crawled into the dining room and looked under the china cabinet and sideboard, trying not to think about how old the furniture in here was. It would be ruined after tonight. Rowena would be heartbroken. As he made his way into the back bedrooms, he thought about those twin girls and how they’d died in their beds. He froze. His chest started to ache and sweat stung his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He should have stayed outside and let the real firefighters find Snowball. The smoke was making its way lower. He was almost out of time. And unless Snowball was hiding along the floor, she was already dead. The thought of Rowena holding her dead cat made him move again. He could do this. He would find her cat. After what he’d put her through, he was not going to tell her he’d let Snowball die in a fire. He made his way into the parlor and swept the beam under the sofa, almost missing her big golden eyes. He reached for her but she retreated further against the wall. Water was starting to trickle down from above, but he had less than two feet of free space near the floor. He was almost out of time. He rose up just enough to tip the sofa slightly, and caught one of Snowball’s front paws as she tried to run. Cradling her against him like a football, he scooted along the floor. The heat was ridiculous. He

needed to get out now or they’d both be dead. The back door loomed ahead, and he felt Snowball go limp in his arms. No. God, no. Please don’t let her die. Please. He had to rise up again to get through the door and the blast of hot air caught him by surprise. He staggered out the back door and collapsed on the lawn, still holding Snowball. When he opened his eyes Steve bent over him, gently lifting Snowball out of his arms. He tore off his mask. “Is she OK? Please tell me she’s not dead.” His voice came out in a whisper. His throat was on fire. “You dumb-ass stupid crazy son-of-a-bitch.” Steve called for someone and Van was lifted onto a stretcher and an oxygen mask was strapped to his face. He twisted around to find Steve. “Is the cat OK?” he croaked, pulling aside the oxygen mask. “We’ll take care of her. Put that back on!” Van closed his eyes and let the darkness descend.

Chapter Twenty-Four Rowena called Toni and begged her for a ride from the hospital. She knew it was a huge inconvenience since Toni lived an hour away, but she didn’t know who else to call. When she’d called Jake he actually offered to drive from Chicago. She explained it wouldn’t do him any good since she literally had no place to go. She assumed her house was uninhabitable. Toni assured Rowena she was on the way, and as soon as Rowena disconnected the call, she tried Van’s number again. It went straight to voice mail. Where was he? Had he ever returned from driving her to the airport on Friday? What day was it now? She’d lost all track of time. She’d never felt so alone or afraid in her life. Even her first weeks in LA hadn’t been like this. There was no one in Creek Ridge to turn to other than Mike or Cindi, and she’d only call them as a last resort. She had no home, and probably no cat. Tears welled up for about the tenth time since the doctor had come in two hours ago and told her she could go home, and once again she tried to force them back. But the reality of her situation was overwhelming. She had nothing, and no one to ask

for help. The only thing she’d had time to grab when the firefighters pulled her out of the second story window was her laptop bag, and the only reason her phone and charger had still been in the bag was because she hadn’t taken them out after driving home from the airport Sunday night. The hospital had free Wi-Fi, but she was reluctant to go online. There was enough drama in her life right now without reading something about herself, real or made-up, that would only upset her further. One crisis at a time. She scrolled through her contacts, wishing she’d put the numbers of Van’s crew in her phone. She had no idea how to get in touch with any of them. She had no choice. It was time to call Mike, but first she made one last check for someone local who could help her piece together what had happened, and uttered a cry of relief when she found Tommy’s number. She almost threw the phone across the room when it went to voice mail. She left him a message that she hoped didn’t sound too desperate or crazy, and leaned back against the pillow to wait for Toni. Van’s face floated up in her mind. They’d left nothing resolved between them. He’d never answered either of text messages, and she couldn’t help but assume the worst. Surely after a fire at the home he was restoring he would have called her?

Wouldn’t the guys have shown up for work this morning? Or was it Tuesday already? Unless Van was…no. She wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t. He had to be all right. There had to be an explanation for this. Even if the reason for his silence was that he’d told the guys they were through and he didn’t want to talk to her, someone should have called her when they discovered her house had burned down! Which took her back full circle to the suspicion something terrible had happened to Van. “Oh God,” she said, rising from the bed to pace the room. “I can’t stand this. I have to know where he is.” She was about to open the phone to call Tommy again when it rang. She glanced at the caller ID and flipped it open. “Tommy? Thank God. What’s going on? I can’t reach Van. No one has called me. I don’t know what happened at my house or with Snowball, or with—” “Whoa, slow down. Snowball is fine.” “What?” “Bobby and Denise Malcolm have her. They’ve been busy at your house but I’ll tell them to call you. I thought they had by now.” “She’s OK? But they couldn’t find her. I remember that.” “Rowena, have you talked to anyone since the fire?”

“No! I’ve been sitting here wondering what the hell happened.” This time she didn’t bother to stop the tears. “Oh, Rowena, I’m so sorry. I would have called you. I didn’t know. Are you still at the hospital?” “Yes. Toni Fleming is on her way from Shaker to pick me up.” “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’d rather tell you all this in person.” Rowena’s hands were trembling so badly she almost dropped the phone. “Tommy, where is Van? I haven’t talked to him since Friday.” “What? You don’t know that either?” Rowena heard someone whimpering and realized it was her. “Hey, it’s OK. He’s there, at the hospital. Just wait for me, OK? I’ll take you to see him.” “I don’t understand.” Had she heard him correctly? Van was here? Why hadn’t he come to see her? Did he even know she was here? “Rowena, he found your cat.” “Where?” She was so confused and frustrated. What the hell was going on here? “In the fire,” said Tommy, slowly. “He grabbed some gear at the scene and went into your house and found Snowball.” Tommy had to be mistaken. “Not possible.” “He did, Rowena. He spent the night at his own

house Sunday, and Larry called him around two to tell him your house was on fire. He raced over there and Julio told him you’d been taken to the hospital but they couldn’t find Snowball. He grabbed some gear and went in.” “Oh my God. Tommy he hasn’t gone into a burning building since…” Since the night those girls died. “Yeah, I know. The stupid ass didn’t suit up right and took in a lot of smoke.” He’d done that for Snowball. For her. “He could have died.” “He didn’t. He’s too damn hardheaded for that. I’m in my car, Rowena. What room are you in?” She gave him the room number and disconnected the call. Van had gone into her house while it was on fire to save her cat. How would she ever be able to thank him? And had Tommy said Denise was watching her cat? Yes, he had. Fresh tears stung her eyes, but not from frustration or helplessness. This time she was overwhelmed at the kindness of a girl she’d once wished a slow, painful death on, and a man who loved her enough to risk his life, and some horrible memories, for her cat. While she waited for Tommy, she went online to make sure Brett hadn’t pulled a fast one. She was relieved to find the nude photos hadn’t resurfaced anywhere else, and Brett hadn’t breathed a word

about her since the impromptu news conference Sunday afternoon. She hoped Van hadn’t seen that. The more she thought about it the more upset she became. She was about to search for local news when a soft knock on her door sent her hurrying across the room. She embraced Tommy, and felt him hesitate a second before patting her back quickly. “It’s OK,” he said. “Where do you want to talk? Here?” “I want to see Van.” She closed her laptop, then watched his gaze roam over her. She was still wearing the same things she’d been wearing when the smoke alarm woke her up—a tank top and pajama bottoms. There hadn’t been time to get dressed or grab her clothes. On her feet she wore hospital slippers. She’d been barefoot when they pulled her out of the house. “I have nothing else to wear.” Tommy looked uncomfortable. “Van is in ICU, Rowena. I’ll take you to see him, but there are things you need to know, and I have some questions.” He was in ICU? Tommy hadn’t told her that on the phone. She sank into the nearest chair and ran a hand over her face. “OK. Ask your questions.” Tommy pulled a chair over and placed a rolledup newspaper on the floor next to it. “What do you remember about the night of the fire?” “Nothing. I got home around one, spent ten minutes tops walking through the house looking for

evidence Van had even been there, then fell into bed. I didn’t even unpack my suitcase.” “Do you remember seeing anything in the yard when you got home?” “Nothing except my car.” Was it still there? She hoped so. And the rental car must still be there as well. There were so many things to take care of. “OK.” Tommy sat forward in his chair. “Bobby and Denise took Snowball to a vet. She’s fine. They said they’d keep her as long as you needed them to. Apparently their kids are in love with her.” “That’s so kind of them.” Tommy unrolled the newspaper and handed it to her. A picture of someone lying on the ground in firefighter gear, holding a lump of white fur, graced the cover. The tag line, in large bold letters said: Local Contractor Plays Firefighter to Rescue Cat. Rowena gasped. Local contractor? Did they mean Van? She scanned the article. It was Van. He’d found Snowball hiding under the sofa in the parlor. The article went on to say the city wasn’t filing any sanctions against the department for allowing a civilian to don gear and rush into a burning structure. It talked about Van’s company, Whitney Restorations, as being the general contractors for restoring Rowena’s home, and then referenced another article that detailed the recent arrests and police investigations surrounding the fire.

“What?” Rowena’s head snapped up. “What are they talking about? What arrests? What investigations?” “You missed a lot.” Tommy told Rowena how Jason had wired the circuit interrupter and hid the control for it near the meter on the house. “Are you freaking kidding me?” Who on earth would do such a thing. And why? “I wish I was kidding.” Tommy paused for a few seconds. “Rowena, he’s Trace Coleman’s cousin.” “What?” Tommy explained about William’s grandson and the home in Wellington Trace Coleman had investigated. “That money and the stocks you and Van found in the lockbox? Stolen.” “Oh my God. Van was right about everything. Trace, Jason, everything.” Tommy nodded several times. “Yep. And the blueprints? The First National Bank of Lima, Ohio, robbed in 1928.” “1928? Uncle Cal was like…nineteen years old.” “He started young.” “But why go to all that trouble? Were Jason and Trace behind the oily smell too? What was that all about? Did anyone figure it out?” “Jason and Trace wanted to scare you into letting Trace investigate the house so they could find the money. Trace’s prints were found inside your house.

He was arrested years ago in Pittsburgh for breaking and entering, early in his ghost-hunting career. He manufactured all that paranormal activity.” Tommy made quote mark gestures with his fingers as he said paranormal activity. “He’s a complete fake.” “No surprise there.” “When the lockbox was found, Jason panicked. He wanted to escalate things. And the noises at night? He or Trace would hide in the park and control the sounds with a transmitter. Van and Johnny Dingo found the speaker hidden in the eaves outside.” “Oh my God. Someone was actually in the park doing this at night?” Tommy nodded. “They were there the night your friends Toni and Roger saw all the lights flickering.” “What about the oily smell?” “Oil-soaked rags. They were in the china cabinet and the dressers in the back bedrooms. Jason even put one in a table in the parlor. He removed them the next time he was in the house to work.” Rowena let out an exasperated sigh. “We never looked inside the furniture.” “Rowena, it gets worse. Jason still had a key after your locks were changed. He made it.” “Excuse me?” “He took your key off the ring one day while you were home and slipped out for ten minutes to make a copy.”

Rowena’s stomach contracted. “He was in my house that night. He’s the one who turned off the power. Does Van know?” “Not all of it. Jason and Trace spilled their guts and ratted each other out after they were arrested yesterday.” “How did you connect Jason to Trace Coleman?” “Denny did some digging at Van’s request. He did some digging on your uncle Cal as well. That’s how he found out about the house in Wellington and William’s grandson, and Trace Coleman’s past.” “How did the fire start?” Tommy winced. “Rowena, this isn’t easy to hear. Are you sure want to know?” “Yes.” The back of Rowena’s neck prickled “The fire wasn’t an accident. Trace and Jason were arrested for arson.” Tommy took the paper and turned to a small one-paragraph article. Rowena tried to read it, but her hands were trembling too badly and her vision was suddenly blurry. “Why?” she asked, looking into Tommy’s eyes. “Aunt Loony’s home. Why?” “Their story is they weren’t trying to set it on fire. They were only trying to scare you, and the smoking device they made got out of hand. Van must have left some of the windows open upstairs while you were gone. They saw you come home and waited, then sneaked in. When they realized they’d gone too far,

they…left.” They’d left her there to die. A shiver ran through her. She’d known Jason her entire life. He and Jake had been teammates, along with Van. He’d done this for stolen money? It was too much to take in. “How were they caught?” she asked in a small voice. Tommy chuckled. “You won’t believe this one. You know that nosy neighbor of yours across the street, Cathy Hill?” Rowena nodded, still trying to come to terms with the fact Jason Monroe and Trace Coleman had left her to die. “One of her kids is sick. She was up with him Sunday night and saw your car pull in, but didn’t realize it was you because you were driving the rental. She didn’t recognize it as Van’s car either, and…” Tommy cleared his throat. “Rowena, she thought another guy was spending the night with you, so she watched to see if she could find out who it was.” “For real?” Tommy nodded. “She watched long enough to see Jason and Trace with a ladder, climbing up the side of your house next to the park.” “You’re kidding.” “I’m not. She called 9-1-1, then took her cell phone across the street, and actually got a fairly decent picture of them both. They almost caught her,

but she hid in the bushes, then when the smoke started pouring out your windows they ran, and she called 9-1-1 again. By that time the cops were on their way so they sent a fire truck as well.” “Oh my God. Cathy Hill probably saved my life.” “Possibly. Trace and Jason left the ladder behind when they ran. It had their fingerprints on it. Van’s crew have been in your house and they think they can repair the damage, but—” “It’s not gone? The house isn’t destroyed?” Rowena’s heart skipped a beat. Tommy smiled. “No. It’s heavily smoke damaged, and I’m afraid not much is salvageable, but it’s still standing.” “Oh, Tommy, I thought all this time the house was gone. Does Van know? Is he all right?” “Rowena, they took his breathing tube out but he’s very weak.” “No.” What if he died before she had a chance to explain the press conference? “He didn’t suit up right and took in a lot of smoke. Steve thinks he was just in a hurry to reach Snowball.” “No.” He would die because he’d gone into a burning house to save her cat. “Rowena, he’s going to be all right. I have to believe that.” “No. Not after everything I put him through.

No.” “Everything you put him through? I don’t understand. You’re the victim here.” “The pictures, he was so upset. And then that stupid impromptu press conference where it looked like Brett kissed me.” Tommy held up his hands. “Stop. I doubt he’s thinking about any of that right now.” “I have to see him.” Tommy stood up. “OK. Do you want to wait for your friend?” Rowena sighed. “I almost forgot she was coming. Yes, let’s wait. Are you all right with that?” “Absolutely.” “Tommy, thank you so much.” “I owe you an apology, Rowena.” “Not you don’t.” “Yes, I do. I told Van the same thing. You both were right about Jason and Trace Coleman, and I was wrong about Brett Fontaine.” Rowena shook her head. “We both were wrong about Brett, but for different reasons. Thank you, Tommy. That means a lot to me. Is Van going to be all right?” “He’ll be fine. You’re good for him. He’ll recover from this for you.” “Thank you,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Rowena signed her discharge papers and by the time Toni arrived, she was ready to leave. She walked to ICU flanked by Toni and Tommy, self-conscious because basically she was wearing her PJs. But once she stood in front of the nurse’s desk and told them who she was, all her attention was focused on Van. The nurse told her only two people at a time, and Toni said she’d sit in the waiting room. Tommy said he’d join her so Rowena could spend some time alone with Van. The nurse led her in, telling her to push his call light if she needed anything. Rowena took in the oxygen mask obscuring most of his face, his matted hair—still streaked with dark gray—the IV pumps flanking both sides of the bed, and the heart monitor beeping a steady rhythm. Her own heart was racing. She approached the bed and gingerly sat on the edge, stroking the golden hairs on his forearm, taking care not to disturb his IV. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and she saw him grin through the mask. “Hello beautiful,” he croaked, pulling the mask aside. “Should you do that?” “This will only take a minute. Come closer, Rowena.” She hesitated only a second, scooting closer on the mattress. “I was so scared when they told me they’d

brought you here,” he said. “Oh, Van. All that stuff with the press conference, it wasn’t—” “I know,” he whispered. “It wasn’t real.” His eyes were intense, questioning. “I love you, Van. Anything I felt for Brett is long gone. Please tell me I haven’t lost you.” She actually saw him shiver. His hand came up to gently caress her cheek. “You will never lose me, Rowena Sommers. You have my body, my soul, and my heart. I love you.” The nurse walked back in and told Van he had to keep the oxygen mask on. She replaced it, and as soon as she left, Van held out his arms. Rowena carefully lowered her torso over his, and rested her head on his chest. “How long can you stay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her. “For the rest of my life?” “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Chapter Twenty-Five Four months later, a morning in mid-October. Van covered Rowena’s eyes with one of her silk scarves and tied it behind her head. “Too bad we don’t have time to put this to good use,” she cooed. His groin twitched. The last four months had been the happiest of his life. When he’d been discharged from the hospital a week after Rowena, and found out she was living in Bobby and Denise’s basement using an old sofa for a bed, he settled her and Snowball into his house that same day. His tiny place suddenly had life and warmth. Aunt Loony’s home hadn’t been completely destroyed, but there was serious smoke and structure damage to the tower. Nothing he and his crew couldn’t fix. And he’d promised to win Rowena a new stuffed snow leopard at the Corn Festival next summer to replace the one ruined by smoke and water. “Why do I need to be blindfolded?” she asked. “Because I want you to get the full effect of my big surprise.” She laughed deep and sexy, and he put his arms

around her, pulling her body close. It would be too easy to simply carry her upstairs and make love to her all evening. And all night, for that matter. “You’re killing me, Rowena.” “But you love it.” He turned her around to face him and lifted the blindfold so he could look into those gorgeous green eyes. “Yes, I do. And I love you too.” Her mouth was on his, and it took every ounce of willpower to pull away. He replaced the blindfold and took her hand. “Let’s go. You’re going to love this.” The trees were bathed in reds and gold, and the crisp fall air smelled of dried leaves, bonfires, and pumpkins. This was his favorite time of year. He loved the cool nights and brilliant foliage. Autumn meant football, and the sound of crowds at a game still sent a thrill of anticipation through him. He grinned as they approached Aunt Loony’s home. The guys hadn’t let him down. The front porch was swathed in Halloween decorations, just as it always had been when Aunt Loony was alive. This had been her favorites time of year too, and she loved to dress in scary costumes and tell ghost stories on the front porch. He pulled into the driveway. “I hear tires crunching on brick. Could we be at the house, perhaps?”

He chuckled. “You’re too smart for me. Wait until we’re outside to take off the blindfold, OK? The guys will be crushed if I ruin this surprise for you.” He took her hand and led her to the edge of the new walkway, then untied the scarf. It fluttered to the ground as she put her hand to her heart and gasped. “Oh! Van, it’s finished, isn’t it? Oh, it’s gorgeous. Oh my God. I don’t believe this.” Denise snapped pictures as his crew clapped and cheered. “Oh I just don’t believe this,” she repeated, as he led her around the perimeter. “The roof is new again. And the siding. Is it still cedar?” “Sure is. Didn’t they do a great job with the windows?” “They look original.” “Do you like the colors?” “Oh I love them.” Van had consulted Toni for help with the color scheme of teal, cranberry and cobalt blue, three of Rowena’s favorite colors. Jeff Masterston and Felix Santiago painstakingly researched exactly how to paint the outside of a Queen Anne so it now looked authentic. Almost better than it had when it was brand-new. “Oh, and you painted the fence to match.” “Is it all right? Not many people have a cranberry fence, but we thought it fit the yard.”

She threw her arms around him and pulled him close. “I love it. I love it all. It’s perfect.” “As for the inside, the wall colors, window treatments and furniture are up to you.” “I can’t wait. Toni and I have been planning this since right after the fire.” “Let’s go in.” Rowena walked through the rooms, followed by his crew and Denise, still snapping pictures. She touched the walls and new flooring, remarking on the scrollwork and molding. “I can’t believe you did all this in four months.” “Well, it was easy without you and Snowball here all day.” She laughed and slapped his arm playfully. “It’s been torture not being able to see it. I can’t believe you made me wait this long.” “Wasn’t it worth it though? I didn’t want you to see it all torn apart.” “Yes. This is much better.” When she walked into the kitchen she gasped again. “Van, it’s amazing.” He’d replaced the kitchen cabinets with light maple, and the oak floor was a few shades darker. The appliances were reproductions. It had taken him weeks to find them all. “It’s perfect. You really are a restoration expert.” He grinned. “I told you I was.” He put his arms around her. “Do you want to move in right away or

wait until the decorating is finished?” “Right away. I want to be settled in before Christmas. We can invite your crew and some of the neighbors. Have a huge, traditional holiday party. Maybe I’ll even persuade my family to drive up from Columbus.” “We? Does that mean I’m moving in here with you?” Her eyes danced. “I’d like to see you try and get out of it.” *** Fifteen minutes before they were due to leave for the football game, Rowena still hadn’t decided what to wear. Every outfit she’d bought in New York last month, while attending the opening of Whiskey and Jazz, the play she and Toni had designed costumes for, was strewn across the bed. Van strolled into the room, frowning when he saw her standing in her underwear. “Rowena, we need to get there early. We’re alumni. It’s the Homecoming game.” “Oh, whatever. You do this every year. I don’t.” “It won’t matter what you wear because it’s freezing cold out there. All they’ll see is your coat and gloves.

She flopped on the bed and rested her chin in her hands. “Do we have to go?” He stood in front of her, his eyes bright and alive with mischief. “Yes, we do.” She put her arms around his neck and licked her lips slowly. “Are you sure you want to leave this room right now?” He groaned. “Uh-uh. Not this time, you sexy goddess. We are going to the football game.” He picked up a red plaid wool skirt and a fauxfur-trimmed black sweater. “How about this? Not that anyone will see it under your coat. You can wear your black boots with it. The ones with the side buckles. Those are sexy.” “You scare me sometimes, you know that?” He laughed softly and flushed. “Why? Because I can throw an outfit together as well as you? Afraid I might be competition one day?” “You wish.” The parking lot was nearly full when they pulled in, and Rowena tried to keep her heart from racing. She hadn’t been to a football game since her sophomore year. Once Van graduated, she no longer went, even though her friends continued the Friday night tradition. Twelve years later, the stadium still looked the same, although she had heard through the grapevine that part of the money she’d donated had gone toward a new scoreboard and sound system.

She was grateful her name had never made the papers. The high school had simply said an anonymous donor made upgrades possible. No mention of her. They’d kept their promise to her. Van held her hand as they made their way through the crowds, stopping every few feet to talk to former classmates, teammates, and townsfolk. The men still gawked at her, but now the women asked her how she was, and their expressions were full of sympathy and understanding. Apparently having your house set on fire elevated you from the status of Hollywood bitch to almost-one-of-the-regular-folks. Although she suspected their change of attitude was helped along by the fact that former cheerleader and Homecoming Queen Denise Thompson Malcolm was now one of her friends. Despite the warm reception as they made their way through the crowds, Rowena’s stomach was doing flip-flops by the time they took their seats, surrounded by Bobby and Denise, and most of Van’s crew and their wives or girlfriends. A man’s voice called from the walkway below, and Rowena jumped up to wave at her big brother. “Hey gorgeous! Room for one more up there?” “Oh my God! Jake!” She ran down the steps to meet him halfway, and he enveloped her in a bear hug. “What are you doing here?” “Are you kidding? You think I’d miss

Homecoming?” His dark eyes danced with a secret. “You come every year?” “No, but this year I wanted to.” A muscle twitched under his left eye. She frowned. “Something fishy is going on today.” Jake put an arm around her waist and led her back to her seat. “You’re just imagining things.” “I don’t think so.” The team was really good, and soon Rowena found herself caught up in the excitement of first downs and points on the scoreboard. She watched the cheerleaders and dance team, trying not to remember high school. At one point during a particularly suggestive routine, Denise leaned over to whisper in Rowena’s ear. “Please tell me we didn’t look that slutty.” Rowena laughed. “If I told you that, I’d be lying.” Denise groaned. “No wonder.” Rowena wanted to ask her what she meant, but this wasn’t the time or place. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever be comfortable enough around Denise to discuss high school in anything more than vague terms and veiled references. Van put his arm around her. “You OK?” She looked up into his big blue eyes, still finding it hard to believe they were together. “I’m all right. Not perfect. It’s still kind of bizarre to be here, but I’m

not going to freak out or anything.” “I love you, Rowena. You know that, right?” His gaze was so intense, a shiver of fear rippled through her. “Yes. I do know that. But you seem, I don’t know, off today. Everyone does.” “I guess it’s just weird being at a game with you.” Something about the way he said it didn’t ring true, but she didn’t have time to dissect the comment. The Cougars scored another touchdown, and the crowd erupted into loud cheers and yells. The band played the fight song, and this time Rowena joined in with the chanting and cheering. Halfway through the second quarter, Jake tapped Van on the shoulder and nodded toward the press box behind them. “We should go,” he said. Rowena frowned as she watched Van, Jake, and Bobby rise from their seats. Van smiled down at her. “When they call the alumni onto the field for halftime, just go with your class. I’ll see you on the field, OK?” “Where are you going?” she asked, but the three were already halfway up the steps. She turned to Denise. “What’s going on?” “Oh, who knows? I’m sure they’ve got something planned for the football alumni. You know how they are.” Denise didn’t made eye contact, and her words sounded rehearsed. Something was not right. Rowena

scanned the crowd behind her, but she didn’t see anyone else she’d feel comfortable asking. She did, however, spot Becca and Tiffany, sitting with other vaguely familiar cheerleader bitches. She turned around before they spotted her. With five minutes left in the half, the Cougars were ahead by a comfortable twenty-one points. The announcer asked all alumni to line up in the south end zone. Denise grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.” “Do I have to?” Denise rolled her eyes. “Rowena, you sat through half the game already, and you do have on those killer boots. You may as well let everyone see them.” Rowena laughed. Denise had a good point. She found the other members of her class and stood among them, craning her neck to see if she could spot Van or Jake. They were lined up by graduation year, with the oldest alumni in front. A few harried-looking teachers walked up and down the edges of the crowd, shouting instructions. Apparently it wasn’t any easier to herd a crowd of adults than it had been to control a bunch of high school kids, because the teachers wore frowns, and one had taken to using a bullhorn. The half ended, and the announcer made a longwinded speech about the Cougar tradition in Creek Ridge, and how proud they were of their alumni, and blah blah blah. Rowena was only half listening. She finally spotted Jake and Van up ahead. They both

stood taller than most of their former classmates. She assumed Bobby and Denise were with them. Most of the cheerleaders Van had been associated with in school were in his graduating year or the one after. She barely remembered anyone standing around her. Traci and Beth weren’t here, or if they were, Rowena hadn’t spotted them. The announcer began calling the graduating years, and the alumni from that class walked across the field as the crowed clapped. She watched the marching band line up on the visitors’ sidelines, but the color guard stood at the edge of the field, forming a salute of flags that the alumni walked past. Would it matter if she did this? She was lost in a sea of people. Who would notice? They were coming up to Van’s year. Now that she could see the north end zone, the various classes stood in clusters. This was so lame. Van’s year had a lot of people in their group, and as they walked across the field she saw several of them wave at the crowd. One more group to go before hers. Her year was finally called, and as she made her way across the field someone shouted, “Rowena!” She scanned the crowd but had no idea who’d called her name. She stood at the opposite end of the field and watched the last groups of alumni cross. The cheerleaders and dance team huddled on the

sidelines, drinking hot chocolate. The color guard sprinted off the field after the last class walked across, and took their place with the band. What had she been so afraid of? It was only a football game, and they were only in high school a fraction of their lives. This whole production of having alumni march across the field at the Homecoming game was so silly, really. There weren’t more than one hundred and fifty people standing in the north end zone. All the cruel taunting and jokes seemed light-years away and unimportant compared to having your house set on fire and finding nude pictures of yourself online. She’d survived far worse things during the past eighteen months than having cheerleaders make fun of her or being kissed by a football player just so he could win a bet. There were no reporters here. Only the guys filming the game, and the local radio station van, and they were at every game. This wasn’t frightening. It was just a high school football game. She heard her name again, but this time it was from her left. Standing on tiptoe she spotted Toni. “Hey,” she said with a pant, sprinting up to stand next to Rowena. “I didn’t think I’d make it here in time.” As far as she knew, Toni Fleming had never gone to a football game in high school. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Why wasn’t she with her

class? Toni cut her eyes to the field, then leaned close and whispered. “Please just stay here and do what I say. OK?” Rowena didn’t have time to ask her what the hell was going on, because her eyes were glued to the center of the field, where Van now stood, holding something in one hand. Something that looked suspiciously like a single red rose. She spotted a microphone in his other hand. Was he giving out some kind of award? Was that why he and Jake and Bobby had disappeared during the second quarter? The announcer was asking the crowd to direct their attention to the center of the field, where former Cougars receiver Van Whitney had a question to ask someone. Next to her, Toni grabbed her arm, and above the south end zone, in full blazing color and shining lights, the brand-new video monitor in the center of the digital scoreboard flashed red letters against a black background: Rowena will you marry me? The roar of the crowd was insane. Van’s lips were moving close to his microphone, but no one could hear what he said. The announcer had to ask everyone to be quiet, then Toni was pushing her from behind, telling her to go. She walked slowly toward the center of the field, her eyes to glued to Van. Her legs were trembling,

and she had to slow her pace so she wouldn’t trip over her sexy boot heels and land face-down in front of the entire crowd. She was only dimly aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. The scoreboard still flashed the question, and the crowd was on its feet, now deathly silent. She scanned their faces. They were hopeful, totally engaged in this unexpected halftime event. The support she felt pouring from them overwhelmed her, and she stumbled a little. Once she recovered her footing she crossed the last ten yards to where Van stood, watching her with a gaze so full of love it was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms and kiss him into oblivion, right there on the fifty yard line. He waited until she was a few yards in front of him, then held out the rose. She smiled and took it, and it was then she saw his eyes were wet. Oh, wow…he was so going to get laid tonight. His voice shook as he spoke into the microphone. “Rowena, I know a lot of us treated you really bad in school, and I know this town hasn’t been behind you one hundred percent since you came home.” He exhaled loudly. “And I know I’ve said this to you privately, but today I want to say it in public. I’m so sorry for everything I did to hurt you. Four months ago when I thought I lost you…” He moved the microphone away for a second and

took a deep breath. “But you’re here now, and that’s all behind us, and I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you.” The crowed murmured as he dropped to one knee and held up the ring he’d been palming. “Will you be my wife?” Movement from the scoreboard caught her eye. She glanced up to see the close-up of them midfield, Van on one knee while she stood in front of him. The last traces of anger and frustration she felt toward Creek Ridge and high school fell away and shattered into tiny pieces. In their place, all she saw were those intense blue eyes and those full lips. She loved this man with her whole heart and soul. She always had. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will be your wife.” He visibly relaxed, then stood to slide the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly. She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed as he spoke into the microphone. “In case you didn’t hear that, she said yes!” The scoreboard flashed She said YES! as Van pulled her into his arms, dropped the microphone, and kissed her, tongue and all, right there on the fiftyyard line of the football field where he’d once caught winning touchdowns. Right there in front of Becca, Tiffany, and the crowd of cheering alumni and neighbors and friends. The noise was deafening, but she barely heard it.

She was too busy kissing the man she loved.

~ End ~

~ About the Author ~ Carolyn Rosewood read her first romance novel at the age of nineteen—Sweet, Savage Love by Rosemary Rogers—and was hooked. She’s a PRO member of the RWA and serves as treasurer for the Music City Romance Writers, the Nashville RWA chapter. When she’s not writing she works as a claims adjuster. She was also a registered nurse for eighteen years. She has a short story titled “Tell Her” published in MUSE ezine, and is hard at work on several paranormal romances. She lives in Tennessee with her husband and daughter, and a cat named Shadow. In her spare time she takes cello lessons. Learn more about Carolyn Rosewood here: http://carolynrosewood.com