Harlequin Heartwarming August 2023 Box Set: A Clean Romance
Author: Melinda Curtis; Amy Vastine; Kim Findlay; Amie Denman
Date: 2023-07-25 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Romance; Clean & Wholesome; Small Town & Rural; Contemporary
Description: Harlequin® Heartwarming celebrates wholesome, heartfelt relationships that focus on home, family, community and love. Experience all that and more with four new novels in one collection! This Harlequin Heartwarming box set includes: A COWBOY’S FOURTH OF JULY The Cowboy Academy by USA TODAY bestselling author Melinda Curtis Banker Dix Youngblood knows he should be foreclosing on the Burns Ranch—home to his former crush, Allison. Instead, he finds himself helping her consolidate the family’s debt…and trying his best not to act on his years-old crush! HIS TEXAS RUNAWAY BRIDE Stop the Wedding! by
Publisher: Harlequin
Rights: Copyright © 2016 by Harlequin Books S.A.

Count down to Thanksgiving with one of our 13 poignant Harlequin Heartwarming short stories. This is a time to get together with family and friends, and reconnect over pumpkin pie and hot apple cider…or read about the stories where heroes and heroines struggle to get their dream holiday!

Snow Day Baby by Amy Vastine

Wedding at Turkey Run by Liz Flaherty

Her Thanksgiving Soldier by Leigh Riker

Mr. Right All Along by Jennifer Snow

Falling for the Cowboy by Sophia Sasson

The Marriage Gift by Tara Taylor Quinn

Heart of a Hero by Pamela Tracy

Thankful for You by Karen Rock

Autumn at Jasper Lake by Carol Ross

The Firefighter’s Promise by Kate James

Wedding of His Dreams by Cari Lynn Webb

The Sweetheart Tree by Rula Sinara

Married by Thanksgiving by Melinda Curtis

A Heartwarming Thanksgiving

Harlequin Heartwarming Authors

Table of Contents

Snow Day Baby by Amy Vastine

• Recipe: French Apple Cake

Wedding at Turkey Run by Liz Flaherty

• Recipe: Italian Sausage and Cabbage

Her Thanksgiving Soldier by Leigh Riker

• Recipe: Thanksgiving Leftovers Casserole

Mr. Right All Along by Jennifer Snow

• Recipe: Pumpkin and Pear Soup

Falling for the Cowboy by Sophia Sasson

• Recipe: Bourbon Pecan Pie

The Marriage Gift by Tara Taylor Quinn

• Recipe: Thanksgiving Turkey Dressing

Heart of a Hero by Pamela Tracy

• Recipe: Sloppy Joes

Thankful for You by Karen Rock

• Recipe: Dinner Rolls

Autumn at Jasper Lake by Carol Ross

• Recipe: Pecan Tarts

The Firefighter’s Promise by Kate James

• Recipe: Crab & Cream Cheese Appetizer

Wedding of His Dreams by Cari Lynn Webb

• Recipe: Creamed Corn

The Sweetheart Tree by Rula Sinara

• Recipe: Gluten-Free Butternut Squash Cheesecake

Married by Thanksgiving by Melinda Curtis

• Recipe: Apple-Pineapple-Blueberry Minis

Snow Day Baby

By Amy Vastine

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Recipe: French Apple Cake

CHAPTER ONE

“Let’s remember, listening to your mom is important. One or two pieces of candy a day is plenty.” Dr. Scott Spencer gave seven-year-old Danny Klein’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as they left the ER exam room.

The boy had stumbled across what was left of his Halloween candy and couldn’t resist eating everything in the bag until he made himself sick. Many of the capillaries in his face had broken, leaving him looking like a character out of a Ben-Day dot comic.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Mrs. Klein said with a smug expression. She could be heard reminding her son that it was doctor’s orders that he listen to her from now on as they left St. Joseph’s Hospital.

Scott stopped at the nurse’s station and made sure he had filled out all the information in Danny’s electronic chart properly. Thorough was one of his strengths, always noted in his reviews, and he wanted it to stay that way.

“I thought you were leaving on-time today,” Nurse Emma Everhart said from behind the desk. “Don’t you have a flight to catch tomorrow morning?”

Emma had the loveliest hazel eyes. Scott still found himself getting lost in them, even though their first date had also been their last. Emma only had eyes for a certain paramedic.

“Just need to finish this and I’m out of here.”

Dr. Gavin sidled up next to him at the counter. Her fiery red curls always reminded him of an untamed lion’s mane, which was fitting since Tessa Gavin was anything but tame. “Don’t forget to come back…or else.”

Panic shot through him. What did she know? Tessa was his supervisor and mentor. He had great respect for her and wasn’t ready to explain that he was headed back home to Minnesota for more than Thanksgiving dinner.

Scott rubbed his sweaty palms on his lab coat. “I’m scheduled to work a double on Saturday, and I’ll be here, Dr. Gavin. You don’t have to worry about it. My flight gets in Friday evening. I’ll get a good night’s sleep and be ready to do my part. I know holiday weekends are busy in the ER. I won’t let you down.”

Tessa and Emma exchanged a look before Tessa gave Scott a reassuring pat on the back. “I was teasing you, Spencer. Chill out. Enjoy Thanksgiving with your family.”

“Are you okay?” Emma asked once Dr. Gavin disappeared into an exam room.

Scott rubbed his forehead. “I’m fine. She always makes me nervous.” And he was worried about how she would take the news that Scott was likely leaving Chicago for good. All he had to do was get to Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon for the interview. The spot was his to lose, according to his father, and Bradley Spencer was never wrong. “Are you staying in town for Thanksgiving?”

“Charlie and I are splitting the day between my parents and his. I’m sure I won’t need to eat again for a week.” Emma held a hand to her stomach.

“Well, don’t overindulge too much. I don’t want you to end up like poor Danny Klein,” Scott said with a grin that Emma quickly returned.

“Sound advice, Dr. Spencer. What would we ever do without you around here?”

Scott’s smile slipped. Unfortunately, they might have to figure it out.

CHAPTER TWO

“Did you pack your prenatal vitamins?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to print our tickets?”

Sheridan Colfax bit her tongue and took a deep breath to stop herself from lashing out at her well-intentioned but sanity-stealing mother.

“I don’t understand how electronic tickets work.” Rita Colfax fluttered around Sheridan’s one-bedroom condo like a hyperactive child.

Sheridan’s older sister tried to ease their mother’s worries. “We can print you a boarding pass at the airport, Ma.” Daisy tied her golden-blonde hair into a high ponytail before washing the breakfast dishes.

Sheridan couldn’t convince them she was capable of more than sitting on the couch. For some reason, they believed a woman who was thirty-three weeks pregnant couldn’t do anything other than be pregnant.

“I still think we should leave for the airport earlier. The snow’s really coming down out there.” Her mother stood with her hands on her hips in front of the picture window that faced the street. In her belted black dress, all she needed was a pillbox hat to look like Jackie Kennedy Onassis from the 1960s.

“We’ll be fine.” Sheridan pushed herself up and off the couch.

Her mother flew to her side. “What do you need? I can get it for you. Sit.”

“I need to go to the bathroom. Can you do that for me, or can I be trusted to do it by myself?” Sheridan snapped. Her mother and sister had been here less than twenty-four hours and she was already wishing they had met her in Florida instead of coming to Chicago first.

“Be nice, Sher. She’s trying to be helpful,” Daisy reminded her.

“It’s okay,” their mom said, backing off and lifting her hands in surrender. “I remember what it was like to be this far along. You’re uncomfortable and tired of being pregnant. It makes even the sweetest person a little sour.”

Pregnancy wasn’t making Sheridan crabby—being smothered was. It was only going to get worse when they arrived in Florida where her eldest sister would be waiting for them with her perfect husband, perfect kids, perfect house, perfect life. Holly probably couldn’t wait to share all her advice and expertise in person instead of via text and email like she’d been doing since they all learned Sheridan was expecting.

She closed the bathroom door and took a moment to appreciate the solitude. The baby took that as his cue to kick her hard in the ribs, a clear reminder that she wasn’t actually alone.

“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t forget you were in there. Kind of hard since you sit on my bladder and use me as your punching bag,” she said, giving her enormous belly a rub.

Glancing in the mirror, she noticed her braid was falling out. She pulled out the hair tie and combed her fingers through her mahogany locks. One perk of pregnancy was amazing hair.

“Taxi’s here! Hurry, Sheridan!” her mother yelled through the door.

No rest for the weary. Sheridan tried to rub the dark circles under her green eyes away before giving up with a heavy sigh. It didn’t matter how she looked. No one could get past her stomach to even focus on her face. Sheridan had stopped being anything but a mother-to-be as soon as that baby bump appeared.

Her mom rapped on the door. “Are you okay in there?”

Sheridan rolled her shoulders, trying to get the stubborn kinks out. “Okay” was a relative term. She often wondered if she’d ever truly be okay again.

CHAPTER THREE

“They say eating less food more often is the best thing to do in the third trimester.” Daisy held a small bag of pretzels in front of Sheridan. “Women who eat at least five times a day are more likely to make it to their due date.”

Traffic was backed up on the expressway thanks to the snow. The massive headache Sheridan felt coming on made her less receptive to Daisy’s second offer of a “healthy” snack in ten minutes.

Sheridan snatched the pretzels from her sister and stuffed them in her purse as a compromise. “I’ve been successfully feeding myself for decades. If I get hungry, I promise to let you know.”

As much as Sheridan loved her family and their support, surviving this trip and their constant hovering would require some sort of miracle.

When they finally arrived, O’Hare was a flurry of activity. Sheridan people-watched while she waited curbside for her luggage. Dozens of travelers unloaded in front of Terminal 3.

A pair of frazzled-looking parents caught her attention as they herded their five children while also keeping track of their multiple suitcases. A couple in shorts and light jackets walked hand-in-hand, pulling matching black carry-ons behind them, and Sheridan imagined they were headed somewhere tropical for their honeymoon. She ignored the sharp twinge of jealousy.

Her phone chirped in her purse. “Shoot,” she muttered when she saw the text from the airline.

Her mother rushed to her side and placed a hand on Sheridan’s protruding belly. “What’s the matter?”

“Looks like we’re going to be here awhile,” Sheridan replied, stepping back to reestablish her personal space. “Flight’s delayed until this afternoon.”

They went inside to check-in, only to be greeted by mile-long lines of what appeared to be the entire population of Chicago. The delay suddenly felt more like a blessing than a curse.

After they checked their mother’s ridiculously over-packed suitcase, Rita headed straight for the TSA Pre-Check line. “Let’s ask if we can go in there since you’re pregnant,” she said.

When Sheridan’s parents were married, her father’s indulgences created this expectation in her mother that the privileges his wealth afforded them was the norm. The first couple years after the divorce had been painfully eye-opening for Rita. Her ignorance to the ways of the world drove Sheridan’s need for independence.

Security couldn’t care less that Sheridan was pregnant, so she and Daisy kept walking while her mom questioned the TSA agent. The way Sheridan saw it, people with children no longer confined to their mother’s womb seemed much more worthy of special treatment. She caught herself staring at that family with five kids in line ahead of her.

The teenage boy with headphones that seemed glued to his ears was completely detached from the rest of the family. Someone could have yelled, “Bomb!” and he’d likely still be standing there, head bobbing to his music. His two slightly younger sisters kept themselves occupied by taking selfies while their curly-haired little brother made faces at the squirming toddler in his mother’s arms.

Sheridan rested a hand on her stomach. Somehow that mother had managed to keep five children alive and well. Didn’t that mean Sheridan had a decent shot at taking care of one?

The woman’s husband offered to hold the toddler, who clearly wanted to have both feet on the floor so he could run. She mouthed a silent thank you as she handed over the obstinate child. The dad lifted the boy above his head and got him to giggle. Husband and wife made a good team.

Sheridan didn’t have a team. Well, not one with the same kind of partner those parents had in each other.

“Why didn’t you come with me? Maybe if they had seen how huge Sheridan is, they would have let us through,” her mother complained when she joined her daughters in line.

“Women don’t get pre-check status for being pregnant,” Daisy informed her. “And if Sheridan did, you and I wouldn’t get it just because we’re traveling with her. That’s not how it works.”

“Mrs. Colfax?” Sheridan didn’t recognize the voice and glanced back over her shoulder.

“Oh, my goodness! Scottie Spencer, is that you?” Rita set down her carry-on and gave him a hug, but there was no way that man was Scott Spencer. Not the Scott Spencer Sheridan knew, at least.

The one she remembered from high school had been more brain than brawn. He’d been gangly, all legs and arms, wore glasses, and thought science was more interesting than…well, anything. He used to mow their lawn in running shorts and a tank top.

“You remember my girls, Daisy and Sheridan.”

Scott shook hands with Daisy before making eye contact with Sheridan. Were his eyes always that shade of brown? They were two pools of melted chocolate; Sheridan wanted to dive right in. It only took a second, though, for his gaze to lower to her stomach and his expression to change from wow to whoa.

Sheridan felt heat creep up her neck. Back in high school, he used to stare at her like she was the most beautiful girl in the world. His attention fed her teenage ego nicely, but when he’d finally found the nerve to ask her out, she had begged him to understand she couldn’t commit social suicide by saying yes.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

He cleared his throat and looked back up. “Congratulations. I hadn’t heard you were expecting.”

“I’m sure I mentioned it to your mom when I saw her last,” Rita interjected. “Maybe she forgot to tell you.”

Sheridan knew her mother was lying by the way she tugged at the pearls around her neck. This finally confirmed how humiliating it must be for her to have a daughter pregnant out of wedlock.

“That was probably it,” Scott said graciously. “What are you all doing in Chicago?”

“We’re spending Thanksgiving with Holly and her family in Orlando,” Daisy answered. “We came to Chicago first so Sheridan wouldn’t have to fly alone in her condition.”

“You say it like I have a disease.”

“No, I think it’s more like a parasite or invasion of the body snatchers.” Daisy bent over and spoke to Sheridan’s stomach. “Where’s my sweet sister? What have you done with her?”

Scott’s crooked grin made Sheridan’s heart beat a little faster. “It’s an epidemic, really. I see at least one pregnant woman a day in the ER. The good news is there’s a cure. It’s called labor, and it’s highly effective.”

Sheridan would have laughed if the reality of labor wasn’t looming. “I didn’t know you were in Chicago,” she said, changing the subject.

“I’ve been here a little over a year. I’m an emergency medicine resident at St. Joe’s downtown. How long have you been in the city?”

“Since I graduated from U of M. I work for E-Pulse—we have an office in Bucktown.”

Scott moved closer. “E-Pulse? As in the E-Pulse that does the viral videos and crazy ‘Ten Things You Didn’t Know About Swedish People’-type lists?”

It was true E-Pulse did once run a story on things people didn’t know about Swedes. Sheridan had helped write it. “Tell me you didn’t learn something new when you read it.”

“I learned about Saturday candy. I’m not sure I could live somewhere people frowned upon eating some chocolate on a Wednesday.”

Had he always been this charming? Sheridan remembered Scott being awkward and a little mousy. This Scott had an ease about him that complimented his striking outward appearance. Chatting with him made the time in line fly by.

When they finally reached the front of the security line, the TSA agent took one look at Sheridan’s stomach and pointed her toward the metal detector instead of the body scanner. There was a loud beep when she stepped through.

“Anything in your pockets, ma’am?” an agent with a narrow face and long nose asked.

She took off her silver bracelet and went through again. Another beep. The agent had her step to the side so he could use his magic wand to find the weapon she wasn’t carrying.

People began to stare and whisper. Her mother and sister finished their scans and collected the bags. As the wand passed over her chest, it beeped.

“Underwire?” the agent asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you wearing an underwire bra, ma’am?” the agent asked.

It had been a while since Sheridan had been embarrassed because there was no such thing as modesty during pregnancy. Between the doctor exams and the misconception that pregnant women loved strangers touching their stomachs, there was always some reason to forget about her dignity.

The agent pulled on some pale blue rubber gloves and essentially felt Sheridan up in front of everyone in the security area, including Scott, who stood wide-eyed behind her mother. She slowly died a thousand deaths.

CHAPTER FOUR

Scott thanked the young woman behind the counter as she handed him his coffee and bagel. Some breakfast would help fill the time opened up by the delay.

Since the moment he’d ordered, the clerk had been more focused on him than doing her job. “Have a happy Thanksgiving.”

“You, too,” he replied politely.

A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed she was still staring at him as he walked away. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to women ogling him. Sheridan Colfax could attest to the fact that no one gave Scott a second look in high school. Puberty had not been kind.

Thankfully, everything had changed about halfway through college, around the same time Sheridan’s parents divorced and her whole family seemed to go into hiding. Scott couldn’t believe it had been so long since he’d seen the former homecoming queen.

According to the departure board, his flight wasn’t due to take off for another few hours. He had texted his brother, who had planned to pick him up in Minneapolis. Wes wasn’t going to believe Scott had run into Sheridan Colfax. He’d freak out when Scott told him she was pregnant. Some lucky guy had won her heart. Back in high school, Scott would have done anything to have been that guy, but that was a long time ago.

Daylight filtered through the snow that had begun to accumulate on the barrel-vaulted ceiling made of glass and painted steel beams. Scott headed to the food court and found an open seat. The airport was a zoo today. Everyone appeared more travel-weary than travel-ready.

Hopefully Sheridan’s trip wouldn’t get any more stressful. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Scott noticed her struggling to make her way through the crowd. Her jaw was clenched tight as she searched for a seat, her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. Dylan set his backpack on the floor and waved when she looked his way.

There was definite hesitation on her part, reminding him what it had been like back in the high school cafeteria. She bit her bottom lip as she considered her options. Unlike in high school, her options here were severely limited. There was one other open spot next to a large family with a rambunctious toddler, who cried as his brother held a purple elephant toy just out of reach.

Sitting with a former high school nerd had to be less horrifying. Sheridan apparently agreed and made her way over to him.

Scott held the chair out for her. “Thanks,” she said, setting her bag on the table. “This place is nuts.”

“I’m almost finished. Your mom or sister can have my seat.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Sit. I told them I was going to the bathroom. I need a break from them if I’m going to make it to Orlando without losing my mind.”

She took her phone out and grimaced.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“My battery is almost dead thanks to Holly’s five million texts. And every charging station in this airport is full.” Sheridan put her hand on her lower back; her discomfort was clear.

Scott unzipped his backpack and rummaged through it for his portable charger. “Here. Use this.”

“Seriously?” Relief softened her face immediately.

“Absolutely.” He was happy to help. Even though she had refused to go to prom with him, she had been nicer than most.

She took out her laptop. “I should really take advantage of the extra time and get some work done.”

Scott hoped the delay wouldn’t lead to a cancellation. The interview his father had arranged for him at St. Agnes was today. They wouldn’t look kindly upon him asking to reschedule. Being the son of Dr. Bradley Spencer wouldn’t get him any more special favors than it already had.

“What do you do at E-Pulse, exactly?”

Sheridan pulled her hair over one shoulder. She had been a pretty girl who had turned into an absolutely beautiful woman. Pregnancy looked good on her. Her skin was flawless and those green eyes had always been capable of taking his breath away.

“Well, someone should have told me to forget about Algebra and ditch Physics because I make a darn good living surfing the web and playing on social media all day long.”

“So, basically your job is to do what everyone else does when they’re trying to avoid doing their job?”

“Pretty much. My official title is Social Media Editor. I search the internet for stories or videos and turn them into posts or articles and share them on our company’s social media accounts. For example, this weekend my assignment is to find something that reflects the ‘heartwarming nature of the Thanksgiving holiday.’”

Sheridan had never been very confident about her abilities in school, but Scott had believed she was smarter than people thought. She was creative and socially savvy, traits that didn’t always pay off in the classroom but seemed to be exactly what she needed to be successful in her career.

“Our jobs are so different,” he concluded.

“Only if you think saving lives isn’t the same as entertaining millions of 18-to 34-year olds with videos of babies who giggle when their dads belch,” she said with a straight face.

They both laughed, and it felt good. Sheridan was a breath of fresh air.

“I’m sure your baby will find his or her dad’s burps extremely hilarious.”

Sheridan’s smile slipped and she shifted in her seat. “Probably not. This little guy’s dad doesn’t really plan to be around very much.”

“Military?” Scott assumed.

The skin on Sheridan’s neck turned red and blotchy. “He wasn’t planning on this.” Her hand went to her belly. “He works in London and that’s where he wants to stay. But his new girlfriend is knitting the baby a blanket for Christmas and he promises to send money when he can. He’s super helpful like that.”

Her sarcasm couldn’t hide her hurt. “I’m sorry, Sher. You deserve better than that.”

Her cheeks were now as red as her neck. She shrugged and said, “Maybe. I’m far from the easiest person to get along with. I probably would have moved to another country to avoid being stuck with me, too.”

“You? Hard to get along with?” Scott couldn’t imagine it. “You’re one of the nicest people I know.”

“I was nice. Then, my dad turned out to be a jerk who cheated on my mother for years, and I think I became more bitter than she did. Men haven’t stood a chance since.”

The rumors were true. Scott’s mother had heard that the Colfax’s divorce had something to do with infidelity. Scott felt horrible. Mrs. Colfax had always been good to him, giving him work and talking him up to all her friends. He’d made so much money in the summers during middle school and high school, he hadn’t needed to work when he went to college.

He was about to about to offer his sympathy when he noticed the toddler at the other table wasn’t crying anymore; his lips were swollen and his face was red. He needed Scott’s help. Immediately.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sheridan shouldn’t have been surprised when Scott ran off after learning she had no filter. Her waistline wasn’t the only thing this pregnancy had taken away.

“I’m a doctor,” Scott stated as he approached the neighboring table. He knelt in front of the mother with the toddler on her lap. “Is he allergic to anything?”

“No, not that we know of,” the mother said, her voice shaky.

“Call 911,” Scott directed the man at the next table over before turning his attention back to the family. “What has he had to eat?”

The boy’s parents rattled off everything that came to mind. Nothing sounded life-threatening to Sheridan, but she had no clue what was dangerous or not.

One of the pre-teen girls with them held up a candy wrapper. “I gave him one of my chocolate-covered peanuts so he’d stop crying.”

Scott laid the child on the floor and held the boy’s little legs up. His breathing had turned to wheezing and his eyes were swelling. His mother got down on her knees beside him as silence fell over the food court.

“Does anyone have epinephrine?” Scott shouted. “I need epinephrine!”

“I have an injector!” A woman seated near Taco Hut spoke up. She ran a pen-like object over to Scott, who knew exactly what to do with it.

Sheridan’s heart beat so fast and hard, she was sure she it was about to jump out of her chest. Scott jammed the pen into the boy’s thigh. She couldn’t breathe until the boy could, too. He sat up and climbed into his mother’s lap, wrapping his arms around her neck.

Some paramedics appeared, and Scott explained the situation. Sheridan was in awe of his calm under pressure. He was completely in control.

He returned to their table and bent down to pick up his backpack. “I’m going to go with them over to the Urgent Care Center in Terminal 2, make sure he’s okay. It was really great catching up with you.”

“Yeah,” she replied, surprised by the disappointment she felt in his leaving. “Tell your family I said hello and happy Thanksgiving.”

“I will.” He gave her one last smile before following the family out.

Everyone went back to their food and conversation, yet Sheridan still felt unsettled. Her phone chimed with a text, and she realized she still had Scott’s portable charger.

Are you okay? Where are you?

Daisy and her mother had most likely heard there was some sort of medical emergency, and for the first time since they’d arrived, Sheridan was glad for their presence. She texted back her location and Daisy showed up a few minutes later.

“Mom thinks you’re mad at her, so she stayed at the gate.”

“I’m not mad at her,” Sheridan said with a sigh. “I was feeling overwhelmed.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be if you would stop fighting us and accept our help.”

“I can’t rely on you. The reality is I’m going to have to do this by myself. I am going to be someone’s mother.” She tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “I’m not ready, Daisy. I’m going to screw up and ruin this baby’s life.”

She had been trying so hard to convince everyone she could do this on her own, but she couldn’t. That mother with five children hadn’t known what to do when her son was having an allergic reaction and she was an expert in Sheridan’s mind. She didn’t even want to think about what would have happened had Scott not been there.

“You aren’t the first person to be afraid of becoming a parent. You’re going to be a great mom.”

“I’m not,” she asserted. Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s too much responsibility. I have to keep this baby alive. Every day. For the rest of my life.”

“Come on, Sher.” Daisy cocked her head. “Eventually, he’ll be responsible for himself. It’s not like Mom has to constantly make sure we’re breathing.”

“You know what I mean. I’ll still feel responsible even if he’s lucky enough to make it to adulthood.”

Daisy had been the troublemaker in the family growing up while Holly was the perfect one and Sheridan was the popular one. Daisy had ditched school often and once crashed their dad’s BMW. Fortunately, she grew out of most of the rebelliousness, but she still told it like it was, and Sheridan respected her more than anyone else.

“You can come home. Move to Minneapolis and let us help.”

“I can’t.”

“Won’t,” Daisy accused. “Well, the one thing this baby needs more than anything is love. And when you love someone you go all out.”

Sheridan pressed her lips together to hold in a sob. Love came with trust, and since her dad had admitted to being unfaithful, trust was something she had difficulty giving as freely as she once had.

“I think I’m scared of taking care of the baby and of being alone when the baby’s all grown up.” This was the thought that kept Sheridan awake at night. Would she ever be able to trust a man? Would anyone put up with her and her issues?

“Remember how worried we were that Holly wouldn’t be able to love anyone more than she loves herself?” Daisy asked.

Sheridan fought a smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, she proved us wrong. She puts those kids first.”

“Mom of the Year, if you ask her,” Sheridan scoffed.

Daisy clarified, “I didn’t say she had a personality transplant. I said she’s proven she can love someone more than herself, which means there’s hope you’ll stop treating every guy you meet like he’s Dad.”

“You know who’s not like Dad?”

“Scottie Spencer?” Daisy fluttered her lashes and clasped her hands under her chin.

Sheridan smacked her sister’s arm. “Yes. He saved a little boy’s life a few minutes ago. Took care of someone else’s child without a second thought because that’s the kind of person he is.”

“He’s a doctor.”

Sheridan knew there was more to it. “He’s always been like that. It’s who he is, not what he is.”

“Well, it’s a good thing he’s always had a super soft spot when it comes to you. Maybe you two could see more of each other since you both live in Chicago.”

As great as he was, there was no way he’d want to get involved with a woman in her situation. It was a nice thought, though.

“I think you’d have a better shot at landing a guy like Scott than I would.”

“You think so?” Daisy’s eyes lit up, creating a surprisingly uneasy feeling in the pit of Sheridan’s stomach.

“Nah, you like `em a little more rough around the edges. You two wouldn’t last a month.”

“You’re probably right,” Daisy agreed.

Sheridan’s shameful relief was short-lived. An intense shooting pain in her back made her cry out.

Her sister reached for her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

The pain came and thankfully went. Sheridan took a couple deep breaths, exhaling like the nurse who ran her childbirth class had taught her. “I’m fine. I think I need to get up and walk.”

Hopefully that was all she needed.

CHAPTER SIX

“Thank you again, Dr. Spencer.” Dana Walters hugged Scott for a third time. “You were our guardian angel today.”

Scott accepted some more thanks from her husband and another hug before he headed back to Terminal 3. He still had two hours before his rescheduled flight. Snow plows were busy clearing runways and he saw some planes landand take off. The airport wasn’t completely shut down…yet.

His phone rang and his father’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, Dad.”

“What time are you getting in? You need to be in Minneapolis by three.”

“I’m scheduled to be there by two-thirty. As long as there aren’t any more delays, I should be fine.”

“You should have driven. You could have left last night and been here by now.”

Scott had been in no shape to drive after a twenty-hour shift, and the weather would have interfered with the roads as much as it was messing with his flight.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now,” his dad huffed. “Let’s hope you make it in time.”

“I helped rescue an eighteen-month-old with an undiagnosed peanut allergy this morning. So, I guess you could say my delay was a blessing,” Scott said, trying to put a different spin on things.

“And I’ve got to check on a patient whose life-threatening brain tumor I removed two days ago. Get home, son. I’ll see you tonight.”

He should have known his father wouldn’t have been impressed. If the lifesaving didn’t happen on the operating table, it wasn’t worthy of praise.

Scott came from a long line of doctors. His great-grandfather had been a pediatrician, his grandfather had been a trauma and orthopedic surgeon, and his father was an almighty neurosurgeon. Scott had taken the placement in Chicago because he loved the pace of emergency medicine. He also wanted to please his father, which was why he was reconsidering a surgical residency. A trauma surgeon would still get time in the ER; it would be the best of both worlds…supposedly.

* * *

Disappointment washed over Scott as he passed the food court and didn’t see Sheridan. Running into her had been an unexpected plus to this trip. Too bad she lived in Chicago and he planned on leaving.

She wasn’t married, though, which surprised him. Sheridan seemed the most likely to leave their small town and find her Prince Charming.

“Scott!” Mrs. Colfax waved him down from her little corner at Gate C5.

“Are you hanging in there, Mrs. Colfax?”

Prim and proper as ever, Rita sat with her ankles crossed and hands in her lap, surrounded by carry-on bags but no daughters. Their purses saved their spots on the chairs on either side of her. “I’m miserable, but Sheridan’s having a terrible time. Is there any way you could make sure she’s okay? She’s walking around with Daisy because she said she can’t get comfortable in these chairs. I’m worried.”

“Absolutely.” He glanced to his left and spotted her before he needed to ask which way they’d gone. All three Colfax girls were beautiful, but there was something about Sheridan that had always made Scott’s pulse race. “How’s it going, ladies?”

Daisy unlinked arms with her sister. “She’s been in a lot of pain. I don’t know if the walking is help or not.”

“It’s helping,” Sheridan said, grimacing.

“Where does it hurt?” Scott asked, coming to her side and placing a hand on her lower back.

“Right where your hand is.”

He quickly assessed her situation. She hadn’t been drinking enough water, so their first stop was the newsstand to buy a bottle.

“I’m going to check on Mom, Sher. I’m leaving you in capable hands.” Always the most forward of the Colfax sisters, Daisy shamelessly ogled Scott before adding, “Imagine if you had looked this good back in high school, Spencer. Your nickname would have been Scottie the Hottie instead of—”

“Go check on Mom, Daisy,” Sheridan said firmly.

Daisy smirked and headed back to the gate.

“Do I want to know what my nickname was in high school?”

Sheridan’s lips fell in a grim line as she shook her head.

“Ouch.”

“Hey, on the bright side, we were just talking about how you’re one of those guys who should go to our class reunion just to put everyone who was a jerk to you in their place.”

He had to admit, it was satisfying to be the ugly duckling who had turned into the swan. Whenever he bumped into someone from back home, jaws fell to the floor.

“Funny you should mention jerks we went to high school with. My brother ran into Kevin Remus recently. Said he’s gained a hundred pounds and works at his dad’s hardware store.”

Kevin was the guy Sheridan has said yes to after turning down Scott’s invitation to the prom. All the girls had wanted to date him; it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Sheridan chose him over Scott.

“I was a real idiot when I was seventeen,” she said. “I could have dated Scottie Soon-to-be-Hottie and saved myself a lot of trouble. Kevin was so full of himself there wasn’t any room for me in the relationship.”

“We live and learn.”

Sheridan’s face contorted in pain and she leaned against the wall for support. A few seconds later, she relaxed. “I seem to keep learning the hard way.”

“Let’s not add stress by dwelling on the past,” he said. They resumed their walk and Scott started timing her episodes, seeking a pattern. “Any luck finding a heartwarming Thanksgiving moment?”

“I’ve been neglecting my responsibilities. My phone is in my purse. Which reminds me—I forgot to give you your charger back.”

He was about to joke that maybe he left it on purpose so he’d have to see her again when she stopped and dug her nails into his arm. If these were contractions, like he suspected, they were coming quick. He hoped they were nothing more than Braxton Hicks.

“I think we should have you sit down. Let’s see if resting and water helps,” Scott said, leading her back to the gate.

“Can I keep you?” That stomach-flipping smile of hers reappeared. “I kind of like having a doctor at my beck and call.”

Scott wanted to say yes, but then reality settled in. “I’m interviewing for a surgical residency position in Minneapolis.” It felt good to say it out loud to someone. The secret had been eating him up.

Sheridan’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sure that makes your parents happy. Do you not like it here?”

“I love it here. I love the hospital I work at, get along really well with the staff, love working in emergency medicine.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “You love your job, but you’re looking for a new one?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head. “Sounds kind of stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Not any more stupid than insisting I’m staying in Chicago to raise this baby alone even though I’m terrified and my family has offered to help me if I move back to Minnesota.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said as her water broke.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sheridan had heard the stories. She knew it was possible to go into labor in a public place and had empathized with women who had to stand in a puddle of amniotic fluid. But hearing about it was nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand.

The pain that followed her water breaking was like nothing she had ever felt before. It radiated from her back out to the rest of her body. If it wasn’t for Scott’s arms around her, she would have fallen to her knees.

“It’s going to be all right,” Scott said so confidently she almost believed him. “We’re going to call for help. Come on over here.”

He led her to the gate where her mom and sister were waiting. Daisy got to her feet when she saw Sheridan.

“What happened?”

“Her water broke. I need you to call 9-1-1.” He guided Sheridan to the chair her sister had vacated.

“Her water broke?” her mother screeched. It’s too early!” Her panic was not helping ease Sheridan’s.

“It’s early but not terribly so. We’re going to keep her calm and get her to the hospital. It’s possible they’ll be able to stop the contractions.”

Scott was amazing, and Sheridan wanted to tell him that, but the next contraction stole her ability to speak.

“Look at me, Sher.” His firm, authoritative tone made it impossible to do anything but comply. “I need you to take a deep breath in.” He showed her what to do and held her hand through the contraction.

“I’m not ready.” Her head was pounding and every breath was a chore. “I can’t do this.”

“You have to stop this, Scott,” her mom demanded. “We’re throwing her a surprise baby shower in two weeks.”

“Mom!” Daisy threw her hands up in frustration.

Scott’s focus remained on Sheridan. “You can do this. You’re doing great. Baby showers sometimes turn into meet-the-baby parties. We’re going to stay calm until the ambulance gets here.”

Stay calm. That would have been a lot easier if it didn’t feel like there was a vice squeezing her body in half. She gripped Scott’s hand as another contraction hit.

Once it passed, Scott let go and shrugged off his backpack. “They’re coming really fast. I think I should check you to see how far you’re progressing.”

“In the middle of the airport?” A quick glance around made it clear she was definitely the center of attention.

“Look at me,” Scott demanded. His eyes showed no fear, which was more reassuring than he knew. “It won’t be any worse than getting manhandled by that TSA agent on your way in, I promise.”

Sheridan laughed in spite of the constant pressure on her pelvis. Scott asked for the people closest to them to get out of the way. Daisy went into protective big-sister mode and had everyone moved back in seconds.

Another contraction distracted Sheridan from fretting about who might witness Scott ducking under her dress. This was a pain she never wanted to experience again. How had her mother endured this three times?

Scott rolled up his sleeves while he waited for the contraction to end. When she was able to breathe, he took a look. It was the quickest exam she’d ever had. This time when their eyes met, she saw some worry.

“What?”

“The baby’s already crowning. You need to push.”

Sheridan didn’t think; she just did as she was told. Moments later, Scott was holding the tiniest baby she had ever seen. He also screamed louder than his mother had. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

The paramedics arrived and took over. They loaded Sheridan onto a gurney and someone handed her the baby wrapped in a blanket. He was perfect.

Scott had disappeared in the midst of all the chaos. He had been talking to one of the paramedics, but now she couldn’t find him.

“Grab our stuff.” She heard her mother say to Daisy. “Can we ride in the ambulance with her?” she asked one of the paramedics as he began to wheel her away.

“Wait.” Sheridan couldn’t leave without talking to Scott. Her panic began to resurface. Where was he?

“Hey.” He appeared out of nowhere like he knew he was needed. His presence immediately washed away the anxiety. “They’re going to take you to Lutheran General. You’ll be in good hands there.”

There weren’t enough words to express how she felt, so Sheridan put her mouth to better use. Fisting his shirt, she pulled him close and planted a kiss on his lips that caused Concourse C to erupt in applause. Sheridan put everything she had in that kiss—remorse for how she’d treated him when they were young, appreciation for his compassionate soul, gratitude for delivering her son safely, and a whole bunch of burgeoning attraction.

When she let him go, Scott’s composure faltered for the first time all day. That kiss was hopefully one neither of them would ever forget.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“We call it ‘holiday heart’ and it means you’re not having a heart attack.”

Scott’s forty-something patient and his wife both sighed with relief. Mr. Daniels had presented with irregular heartbeat, leading them to believe he was about to fall over dead. Scott was happy to inform them this was not the case.

“I suggest drinking lots of water and sticking to healthier portions at mealtime.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Mrs. Daniels said. “I could kiss you.”

“But she won’t,” her husband added.

Scott left the exam room, reminded of a kiss he had received. It was the same kiss that had been on his mind for the past three days. It was the kiss that had compelled him to call every hospital near the airport, searching (to no avail) for Sheridan and her baby. The snowstorm had caused them to be diverted to another hospital, but no one could tell him which one. That kiss was also his excuse for canceling his interview in Minneapolis and the motivation he had needed to tell his father he planned to continue his residency in emergency medicine because that was where his true interests and talents lay. Lastly, that kiss reminded him why he had wanted to kiss Sheridan Colfax since he was ten years old.

Finding her proved more difficult than expected, though. The E-Pulse offices were closed for the holiday weekend and he hadn’t thought to get her number when he had the chance.

“Watch it again. It’s him.” He heard Emma say. The nurses and Dr. Gavin were huddled around the computer at the nurse’s station.

“Somebody ask him,” Dr. Gavin said.

“Ask who what?” Scott set his tablet on the counter and walked around to see what they were all looking at.

Emma swiveled around in her chair. “Did you deliver a baby at the airport?”

Scott watched the video of the kiss he couldn’t forget.

“That’s definitely him,” Tessa said. “I’ve seen that shirt before.”

“No way. His hair is too dark,” one of the nursing assistants said.

“It’s him,” Tessa asserted again. “You’re famous, Dr. Spencer.”

“What?” he finally managed to spit out.

“You’ve got over two million views. You’ve gone viral. How come you didn’t tell us?” Emma asked. “Delivering a baby in the airport didn’t seem like something you should share when we asked, ‘How was your Thanksgiving?’”

“I bet her husband loved that you made out with his wife,” Tessa said with a laugh.

“She’s not married,” Scott said, reaching over Emma and scrolling thought the comments. People were making similar comments about the baby’s father. The last comment linked to a news article. Scott clicked on it.

Sheridan was quoted saying, “It was the most surreal moment of my life. I never would have gotten through it without [Dr.] Scott [Spencer]. He came back in my life when I needed him the most.”

When asked about the kiss, she had said, “Sometimes words aren’t enough. I hope he knows how I feel about him.”

How she felt about him? He hoped she felt the same way he did, but his feelings were so overwhelming he couldn’t be sure they weren’t causing him to attribute more than gratefulness to that kiss.

Fortunately, the article also mentioned mother and baby were doing well and receiving treatment at University Hospital. He’d found her and wasn’t going to let her get away again.

* * *

“I bet when he’s older, he’s going to be giant. He’ll never believe us when we tell him how tiny he was.” Daisy held all five pounds one ounce of Wyatt Scott Colfax in her arms.

Wyatt was proving to be quite the strong little man already. Despite being premature, he was bigger than they expected and didn’t require much additional support.

“I hated it when you all got taller than me,” their mother said, admiring her grandson.

The nurse knocked on the door to their private NICU room. “I know you requested no visitors except for immediate family, but I have the doctor who says he delivered the baby outside—”

“Let him in!” Sheridan exclaimed, nearly falling out of her chair. Scott was here. He was finally here.

The nurse smiled and slipped back out of the room.

“Oh my gosh, how do I look?” Sheridan hadn’t had a shower in over three days. Her hair was a mess and there was no time for makeup.

“Terrible,” Daisy replied with her usual honesty. “But you have a good excuse.”

Sheridan scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to tame her tresses. Thankfully, she had been discharged this morning and wasn’t wearing that ugly hospital gown anymore.

Another knock and Scott poked his head in the room. The butterflies in Sheridan’s stomach went wild at the sight of him. He came in carrying a bouquet of roses.

“How’s everybody doing?”

“Come see this baby, Scottie. He’s perfect,” Rita said, waving him over.

Scott gave Sheridan a crooked grin and a wink before turning his attention to the baby he had helped bring safely into this world.

“He looks like his momma,” Scott said, glancing up at her again. “Beautiful.”

Sheridan scratched the back of her neck. Somehow Scott managed to make her feel that way even though she knew she was far from it at the moment.

“Want to hold him?” Daisy asked and Scott quickly replied with a yes. “I think Mom and I will go grab something to drink. We’ll give you two some privacy.”

As soon as they were alone, Sheridan’s mouth went dry. She’d been practicing what she wanted to say, but with him there, her mind went blank.

“He’s doing well?”

“Very well, thanks to you.”

“You did all the hard work,” he said, once again proving he was humble.

“You kept me calm. I couldn’t have gotten through that without you.”

Scott smiled sheepishly and they went on to discuss Thanksgiving and the horrors of hospital turkey.

“How did the interview go?”

“I cancelled.”

“Oh.” Sheridan felt a little guilty for being relieved. “Did you not make it in time?”

“I made it in time, I just decided I’m not moving back to Minnesota.”

She wanted to ask him why but the words wouldn’t come.

“So, I hear we’re kind of famous. Internet famous at least.”

Sheridan had ended up creating, rather than discovering, the heartwarming Thanksgiving moment. “You’re viral. I know in your profession that’s a bad thing, but in mine, it’s awesome.”

Scott laughed and Wyatt let out a little do-not-disturb whine. Scott cringed, but the baby settled down almost immediately.

“Maybe you should hold him,” he said, his face creasing with worry.

Sheridan took Wyatt and pressed her lips to his tiny head, inhaling his sweet baby smell. It was strange how all the fear she had felt was replaced by love after he was born.

“I didn’t want the job in Minnesota because that’s not where you and the baby live.”

Sheridan’s gaze lifted and her heart picked up the pace. Those were the exact words she had hoped to hear. “Because of me?”

Scott nodded. “I’ve been waiting for that kiss since the first time I saw you on the school bus when we were in fifth grade.”

“That’s a long time,” Sheridan said with her heart in her throat.

“It was. I’m hoping I don’t have to wait that long to get another one. So I was wondering if you and Wyatt would like to go on a date sometime? You know, when you aren’t busy in the NICU.”

Sheridan smiled so big, she feared her face would split in two. Scott was everything she wanted for herself and her son. He had earned her trust, which meant love was a real possibility.

“I think I can speak for both of us when I say yes. Absolutely, yes.”

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, check out the three Chicago Sisters books by Amy Vastine: The Better Man, The Best Laid Plans and The Hardest Fight. Available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and at your favorite ebook retailer.

French Apple Cake by Amy Vastine

Ingredients

¾ cup + 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

¾ teaspoon baking powder

⅛ teaspoon salt

2 eggs

¾ cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 tablespoons rum

1 stick butter, melted and cooled

3 large apples, peeled, cored and chopped into 1-inch chunks

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease and line an 8-inch round pan with parchment paper.

2. Combine the flour, baking powder and salt together in a bowl.

3. Whisk the eggs in another bowl until foamy, then add the sugar. Whisk until smooth. Add the vanilla and rum. Mix well.

4. Alternately add the flour and butter to the eggs in two batches, mixing gently to keep the batter smooth.

5. Fold in the apples with a spatula and pour the batter into the pan.

6. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes or until the top of the cake is golden brown and a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack and cool for 15 minutes before removing from the pan.

7. Since the cake is very moist, it’s best to keep it uncovered or lightly covered at room temperature.

Wedding at Turkey Run

By Liz Flaherty

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Epilogue

Recipe: Italian Sausage and Cabbage

CHAPTER ONE

“Eloping.” Jenny Boyle backtracked into her grandmother’s kitchen, still carrying the plate of dinner rolls. “Did you say eloping? Nana, you’re seventy-three years old—why do you need to elope?”

“You said it yourself—I’m too old to be waiting around. Besides, your father will have a cow.”

“There is that.” He’d had a cow when Jenny got her ears pierced, when she got a shamrock tattooed on the inside of her right ankle and when she marched on the Indiana statehouse with a few hundred other teachers. Why would he do any less if his mother decided to get married again? He’d think it was too soon after Grandpa’s death. It had, after all, only been twelve years.

Jenny set the rolls on the table, then got a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and poured a healthy glassful. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anybody. How long has this been going on and why the big secret?”

Emma Boyle emptied the bottle into another glass. “Remember the cow?”

“Oh.” Jenny took a long swallow, then another one. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Not this time. Set the table, Jen-Jen.”

Jenny set two places. She was lighting the candles—always candles at Emma’s house—when Nana’s words sank in. “This time?”

“Yes. Grandpa and I had only been married seven and a half months when your father was born. He figured it out when he was a freshman in high school. He—”

“Let me guess. He had a cow.”

“Oh, good heavens, probably twins.”

“To get back to my original line of questioning, who are you eloping with?”

Emma released her hair—light brown with pale pink highlights this month—from a plastic clip, then put it back up again. “You never asked me that.”

Jenny counted to ten. The dozen six-through-nine-year-olds in her special education class were far easier to deal with than one recalcitrant grandmother. “I’m asking you now.”

“His name is Travis McNeil. He’s retired.”

“From what?”

“From any number of things. Not from dancing, though. The man needs to open a ballroom. Don’t you think that would be a nice addition to town?”

Jenny thought Crockett, Indiana, probably needed a doctor—or even a gas station—more than it did a ballroom, but she didn’t bother saying so. “How old is he?”

“Seventy-five. We met when the Rusty Buckets took that bus trip to the casino. Our slot machines were right beside each other. When I lost my money I might have said a few cuss words and he was impressed. He handed me a twenty that I turned into sixty-seven dollars and forty cents.” Emma beamed.

Jenny remembered that the Rusty Buckets was the over-fifty group from Crockett Community Church. They often had meals and took short road trips together. But gambling?

“Where does he live?”

“Crawfordsville.”

The small college town was only about twenty minutes away. It wouldn’t be that hard to check on a Travis McNeil if she had more time, but the word “elopement” made Jenny think that wasn’t the case. “So, when are you eloping and what do you want me to do?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that?” Emma brought the small platter of Jenny’s favorite pork chops to the table and set it down between the mashed potatoes and buttered corn that were Jenny’s other favorites. “Tomorrow.”

Jenny spilled her wine, creating a new pink stain on top of the one where her student Charlotte Minton had thrown up on her earlier in the day. “Tomorrow,” she repeated. “Today is Monday. I have school tomorrow.”

“I know, dear, but then you’ll be off until next Monday. We’ll have the ceremony on Wednesday evening—just a small, intimate thing. We’ll ask your parents to have dinner with us at the park on Thursday—your mother will be so relieved not to have to cook that dreadful stuffing your father insists on.”

“I still don’t know why you want me there.” Not that Jenny minded the idea of going to Turkey Run—she loved the park—but going there Thanksgiving weekend with the sure knowledge that her father was going to spend the whole time in a huge, noisy pout didn’t sound appealing. Once he found out she was an accomplice in his mother’s nefarious plan, it would be even worse. “I wanted to go to the beach.”

Wanting to hadn’t meant she was going to, although she always kept a bag packed in case a long weekend and a reasonable plane ticket became available at the same time.

“Oh.” Emma looked away for a moment, and Jenny noticed how her profile had softened. When had that happened? It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d left Jenny’s graduation from Indiana State, driven to the airport and dived out of a plane.

The man whose parachute Jenny shared on the tandem had made her heart thump as much as the jump had. “Open your eyes, pretty girl. I’ll keep you safe,” he’d said close to her ear. She’d never seen him again, nor was she sure she’d recognize him if she did, but she’d had several nice, hazy dreams about him.

Her father had come unglued, but it had been the best day. And it had been eight years ago in May. No wonder Nana’s features were softening. Her own probably were, too.

“Well, you must go, then, and have a good time. Maybe you’ll meet a nice young man.” Emma’s voice didn’t waver, though she didn’t meet Jenny’s eyes, either. Her disappointment was almost palpable.

“Did I ever thank you, Nana?” Jenny asked, her voice soft.

“For what? I’m sure you did. Your mother taught you perfect manners.”

“For making me not afraid to do things like jump out of airplanes or teach special education or sit in restaurants by myself and be completely comfortable.”

Color washed Emma’s cheeks, making her appear younger. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

“You know, I don’t have to go to the beach at all. What part do you want me to play in your elopement? I can probably pick out ‘The Wedding March’ on a piano if there’s one handy and no one can hear very well.”

Emma smiled at her, a hopeful sparkle brightening the blue of her eyes. “I’d like you to be my maid of honor. I already have our dresses picked out.”

Oh, yes, now it was certain—her father would definitely have a cow.

* * *

“Turkey Run? Why Turkey Run?” Zeke hadn’t been to the state park in years, though he used to like it. But it didn’t have anything he couldn’t find bigger in Chicago.

“Just for a change. I thought it would be fun to bike the bridges from Terre Haute to the park. Remember doing that when you were in college?”

“Yeah.” He’d loved the twenty-seven-mile trek over covered bridges that ended at Turkey Run. It had been a good break from classes and working. “But, Pap, it’s Thanksgiving weekend. I thought maybe you and Seth could come up and we could drive over to Green Bay to watch the Bears. I’ve got tickets.” Though one of the guys at the firehouse wanted those tickets. Bad. Selling them wouldn’t be a problem.

Zeke and his brother had gone to live with his grandparents after the accident that had claimed their parents’ lives. They’d never had traditional Thanksgivings. His grandmother’s cooking had ranged from marginal to downright awful, so they’d always eaten out. After her death five years ago, they’d still eaten out, but they’d started going to football games, too.

“I know, son, and that would be nice, but I don’t want to be in the car that long and I don’t want to fight holiday traffic. You’re young enough for it, but I’m not. Besides, Seth is in Europe for work, remember?”

He’d forgotten. “You could fly up. I’ll spring for the ticket.” But Zeke knew the argument was already lost. Travis McNeil never asked his grandsons for much of anything and the truth was they owed him everything. Obviously, Seth couldn’t make it, which meant Zeke had to. “Never mind. It’s fine. What’s the plan?”

“Well.” Travis was hesitant, which was unusual. “If you could meet us at the park Tuesday, that would be great. We could get some riding in. Maybe some more on Wednesday before the ceremony. Then dinner on Thursday. They do a good spread there in the lodge.”

“Okay. I can do that. I’m off all week, which means I’m working Christmas week. Just come to the inn?”

“Yeah, right. The earlier, the better.”

Zeke nodded, though no one could see him. “See you then.” He started to hang up, but stopped his thumb in time. “Hey, Pap?”

“Yeah?”

“What ceremony?”

CHAPTER TWO

The weather was uncommonly beautiful for late November in Indiana. Breezy but still warm. Not raining. Jenny hoped that was a harbinger of things to come for her grandmother. Although she wasn’t sure. About either the weather or Emma’s new love.

She’d googled Travis McNeil the night before and found several mentions, though no pictures that had been taken after 1970 or so—she wasn’t even certain the citations she found were for the same man her grandmother was all gaga over. The one Jenny found had written academic papers, owned a factory, acted in a couple of movies and written a few more and played bass guitar. If he had a personal life, Google wasn’t discussing it with anyone and neither was Facebook.

Her grandmother’s car was nowhere in evidence when Jenny parked at the Turkey Run Inn. Which made sense—Emma had probably come with Travis. Were they sharing a room? What would Jenny’s father say if they were? She grinned at the prospect. Not that she wanted Emma to be on the receiving end of his wrath, but then again, if there was anyone Lucas Boyle was scared of, it was his mother.

Jenny got out of her car and went to get her suitcase and her laptop from the trunk. School might be out for Thanksgiving, but there were work-related tasks she needed to get done. She hoped her students all had a nice holiday, although she knew some of them wouldn’t. Charlotte, for one, was a backpack kid. She took food home on Fridays to eat over the weekend, but all bets were off on holiday breaks—the backpack didn’t contain enough items to ensure that many days without hunger.

“Rooster in a rowboat!”

The sound of one of her grandmother’s favorite oaths uttered in a voice that was absolutely and wonderfully male got Jenny’s immediate attention. She turned around slowly, coming to a stop when her gaze met the dark eyes of a man standing two cars down.

Whose looks matched his voice. Be still my old maid heart. Not that she ever used the term “old maid”—she wasn’t even thirty. Quite. But, to quote the high school intern who helped in her classroom twice a week, this guy was hot. No, he was smokin’.

He stood behind a vintage red Mustang with a bicycle rack on its bumper. His hands were on his hips and his spectacular face looked as though a thundercloud had descended on it.

Jenny approached him. “Is there something I can help you with?” Once a teacher, always a teacher. And single was single. She didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t a state she wanted to dedicate her life to, either. If the opportunity to meet someone both gorgeous and single—he must be single, right? Driving that car with only one bicycle on its back—who was she to turn away? Plus he swore like Nana—what could be better?

“Not unless you know how to break into a car. How do you drive eighteen years without locking your keys in the car and then do it on a holiday weekend when you’re two hundred miles from home?”

“It can be done.” She knew that, because she’d done it. More than once. Her mother and grandmother both kept spare keys to her car for that very reason. No one ever mentioned it to her father.

“I’d call a locksmith, but my phone’s in there, too.” He gestured toward the Mustang’s interior.

Jenny scrounged in her purse. “You can use mine.”

“Thanks.” He took the phone and swiped the screen, presumably searching online for a local locksmith. “I appreciate this. I’m not always such a klutz.” He smiled at her, a look that was both familiar and engaging.

Way familiar. Way engaging. The thermometer in her car had assured Jenny it was fifty-one degrees Fahrenheit, but she felt a little warm. Actually a lot warm, perspire-y even. She waved a hand, as much for the air flow as to say the loan of her phone was nothing at all. “Oh, I am. Think nothing of it.”

A moment later, he held the phone away to look at its screen, a scowl replacing his easy smile. “No service? Isn’t this the twenty-first century?”

Jenny looked around at the hills and trees that surrounded the picturesque lodge and its parking lot. “Not necessarily in state parks.”

“Well, I’ll call from inside, I guess. Presumably they have land lines.” He handed her back the phone. “Can I help you carry anything in?”

“Sure. Thanks.” She popped her trunk and lifted out her laptop, then looked at her suitcase in dismay. “Cheesy Pete.” It wasn’t one of her grandmother’s inventive curses, but it served the purpose.

He came to stand beside her, looking at the contents of her trunk. The trash bag of recycling. The plastic tote of holiday supplies for her classroom. The reel of plastic tubing. Velcro. She could feel the heat of him all along her left side and they weren’t even touching. She waved her hand again.

“This it?” He reached for her turquoise bag on wheels, setting it on the ground and telescoping its handle.

“That’s it. Or it would be if I were headed for the beach. I seem to have grabbed the wrong suitcase. The bag with the dress for my grandmother’s wedding is evidently at home on the floor of my closet.”

The smile left his face again. And his eyes. “Your grandmother?”

“Yes.” Jenny grimaced. “I may be the only maid of honor in history in a bright green bikini and flip-flops.” She closed the trunk with a slam.

“There’s probably one of those wedding stores close by where you can find an outfit.” He sounded uninterested, and she gave a mental shrug. So much for gaining the attention of the smokin’ hot guy.

She kept her voice bright. “Didn’t I mention that I’m a schoolteacher? I don’t frequent bridal shops for my wardrobe.” Not without skipping a few months’ worth of manicures and coffee-shop coffee first. Unless they were consignment shops, which is where Nana had gotten the silky confection Jenny had left at home in her closet. Maybe there would be time in the morning to go home and get it.

“Jen-Jen! You made it!” Emma’s voice caroled across the parking lot. “I’m so glad you’re here. We have so much to do.”

And maybe there wouldn’t be time.

Her grandmother, looking striking in a lime green sweatshirt and matching biking shorts—biking shorts? Really?—hugged her. “I want you to meet Travis. Sweetheart, this is my baby girl.”

Nana’s intended was a much older version of the man holding Jenny’s suitcase. His hair was snowy white as opposed to being the color of dark chocolate, but his eyes were the same arresting charcoal gray, his smile just as captivating. The tiny sapphire in his left ear matched the one in his younger doppelganger’s. He wore riding shorts and a sweatshirt, too, but they were athletic gray. He looked great in them.

“Er.” Oh, articulate there, Boyle. She extended her hand. “How do you do.” And what are your intentions toward Nana? She’s not rich, you know, even though her house and car and even the condo in Florida are probably paid for.

“I do fine, thank you very much.” He took the hand she proffered and held it for a second after shaking it, giving it a squeeze. “I’m happy to know Emma’s pride and joy. I see you’ve met Zeke?”

“Zeke?” And the eloquence just grows and grows.

“My grandson, the one looking like he’s about to have either a tantrum or an asthma attack. I thought that had cleared up for you, son.”

“Pap—” A note of warning threaded through Zeke’s voice, then he seemed to reconsider. The stop-’em-in-their-tracks smile reappeared on his face and he extended his hand to Nan. “You must be Emma. I’m glad to meet you.”

“Well, let’s go inside. Maybe have an early dinner and make some plans,” Travis urged.

“Actually, Pap, do you still have my spare keys at your house?” Zeke scratched the back of his head.

“Sure. You know where they are.”

“Then if you don’t mind me using your car, I need to go get them. I seem to have locked mine inside the car.”

“And I need to drive back up to Crockett, too, Nana.” Jenny spoke up before Emma could start herding everyone where she wanted them to go. “All I have with me is my beach suitcase.”

“And rubber tubing,” Zeke inserted. “You have that. And Velcro.”

“I teach special ed.” She tilted her nose in response to the derision she heard in his voice. “Those are necessities.”

“Well, then, why don’t you drive Zeke up to Crawfordsville to get his keys?” Emma was going to herd them anyway—that was just the way she was. “That way, Travis and I will have his car to run the errands we need to. And maybe go parking. No time like the present to chase our lost youth.”

“Absolutely.” Travis pulled her into his side and nuzzled her ear.

Parking? Nuzzling? Youth? Was this really happening?”Oh, well,” Jenny mumbled. If her students had used that tone, she would have told them to speak plainly. “Of course. All right with you?” She raised an eyebrow at Zeke.

“Sure. I’ll get you some gas.” He reached for the back pocket of his shorts. “When we get back, that is. My wallet seems to be locked in the car, too. The combination still the same to get in the house, Pap?”

“Yes. You kids drive safely and be careful. Your room keys will be at the desk when you get back.” Travis waved them off, Emma smiled brightly, and the older couple sauntered arm in arm toward the front doors of the inn.

Zeke bumped his head getting into Jenny’s compact car, and his legs didn’t fit that well once he was inside.

“Sorry.” Although she wasn’t. Even taking into account the gorgeousness of his eyes, hair and smile, there was something about Zeke McNeil that set her teeth on edge.

“Not a problem. The Mustang isn’t exactly the last word in comfort.”

She pulled onto the two-lane road that led out of the park.

“So,” said Zeke. “Two questions. Why do you really carry Velcro and rubber tubing in your trunk and what does your grandmother really want with Pap?”

* * *

In truth, he might have worded that question a little better. He wished Seth were here. He’d gotten all the diplomatic genes in the family—they came in handy for an international corporate attorney. Zeke also wished this wasn’t all going on. In a different time and place, he’d be interested in getting to know Jenny Boyle better.

She was pretty, for one thing, with green eyes and a lush mouth in…he didn’t know, maybe a heart-shaped face. Her chin was pointy but cute, and she had nice skin and little ears. She was small all over, in fact. And quick. Her hair was dark brown and shiny with some red streaks shot through it looking like flame on silk. Even more than the beauty, there was a sweetness to her he’d have bet his next days off was genuine. There was familiarity, too, though he couldn’t figure out why.

However, he’d made her mad and the withering look she tossed across the front seat of her car embarrassed and irritated him. He might have deserved it, but that didn’t make him like it any better.

“Classrooms don’t come fully equipped. I use the Velcro to make picture schedules so they know what they’re doing next on that particular day. Rubber tubing goes around chair legs so children can kick the chairs without hurting themselves or the chairs or driving everyone else crazy.” Jenny signaled and turned onto the highway that led toward Crawfordsville. “As to what Nana wants with your precious Pap, I might ask you the same question in reverse. Does he think she’s rich? Because she’s not.”

“Neither is he, in case that’s what she’s hoping for.” That wasn’t quite true. Travis’s eclectic resume included a stint at flipping houses—on a lake that became very popular and exclusive enough that Zeke’s grandparents hadn’t wanted to live there anymore. The venture had left them very well off.

“She doesn’t need rich. She has her family.”

“So does Pap.”

They drove in awkward and angry silence for a few miles. He liked the way Jenny drove, with both hands on the wheel and her eyes constantly moving. When a siren blared far enough away that he’d barely heard it, she pulled onto the shoulder immediately and waited. He wished everyone would do that.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we start over?”

“Start what over?” She frowned, not looking at him.

He extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Zeke McNeil. I’m a firefighter in Chicago. I ride my bike about a hundred miles a week. I’m thirty-two, I like movies and I like to read. My favorite food is hot dogs from vendors the tourists haven’t discovered yet. I have one brother, Seth, who’s two years older than me and a much nicer, smarter guy. Our parents died twenty years ago and we went to live with Gran and Pap. We owe them everything, which makes my attitude toward your grandmother borderline inexcusable. Gran would have me by the ear for that.”

She looked at him then, and her smile lit up her entire face.

The expression took his breath away.

She slipped her hand into his. It was small, with short fingernails that seemed to have primary colors of paint not only on but under them. “I’m Jenny Boyle. Schoolteacher. Twenty-nine. I like to read, but movies put me to sleep. I’m an only child. I’m allergic to peanuts. Maybe I haven’t been fair to your grandfather, either. It’s hard to trust a man who’s as handsome as he is and looks at my grandmother like she hung the moon.” She looked thoughtful. “However, since Nana probably did hang the moon, maybe I should make allowances.”

The emergency vehicles hurtled past, the noise of the sirens creating a weird vacuum in the small car. “Do you feel like you should be going with them?” she asked.

“No.” Although he had to force himself to breathe deeply.

“I always pray when I hear sirens,” she admitted, signaling to return to the road.

He squeezed the hand he still held. “Me, too.”

They got his keys from his grandfather’s house—which had gained a feeling of feminine presence since Zeke had been there last—then stopped to exchange Jenny’s luggage on the way back to Turkey Run.

She lived in a cute little garage apartment behind her grandmother’s brick house in a cute little town. “Geeze Louisa May.” Zeke repeated one of the oaths his grandfather had recently taken up. He stood on her cute little lawn and looked around. “This town should be named Adorable or something instead of Crockett.”

“Bite your tongue. Developers don’t know about us yet.” She led the way up the stairs to her apartment and opened her door. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten since a Lean Cuisine at lunch that got interrupted when a student threw up on me. I could defrost some vegetable soup really fast.”

“You cook?” Zeke did—that had come along with being a firefighter—but most of the single women he knew didn’t. They either didn’t have time or didn’t know how or just didn’t want to. He didn’t fault them for any of that. But sometimes the idea of a home-cooked meal held appeal.

“I like to. Nana taught me. I bake, too. My mom taught me that, because Nana’s baking isn’t something the family likes to talk about.” She waved him to a seat at the kitchen island that comprised the apartment’s only dining area. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

The scene they set reminded him painfully of when he was a kid. He and Seth would do their homework at the kitchen table while their mother cooked dinner. Dad would drink beer and peel potatoes and say things that made his wife blush and say, “Little pitchers have big ears.”

“Why special ed?” he asked.

She put the glass bowl of soup in the microwave to defrost and sliced cheese deftly on a board. “We watched The Miracle Worker on TV when I was in the fourth grade and I told my parents that’s what I wanted to do when I grew up. Not teach the deaf, per se, but special needs. My dad said I should reconsider that because I’d never make any money and my mom said, ‘Shut up, Lucas. She can be anything she wants to be.’ ” Jenny arranged crackers on a plate with the cheese and set it in front of him. “And I never wanted to be anything else.”

When the soup was hot, she served it in what looked like heirloom bowls and asked, “Why a firefighter?”

“Nine-eleven.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t question if he ever had second thoughts about his profession or if he ever got scared. She just nodded. She got it.

Something new settled warmly into Zeke’s soul.

CHAPTER THREE

When Jenny and Zeke had been seated beside a window in the Narrows, the inn’s cozy restaurant, at breakfast the next morning, he continued the conversation they’d started on their way down the stairs. “You don’t ride?” He sounded incredulous. “At all?”

“No. Well, I mean, I ride. To school if the weather’s good, or to the store if I’m just picking up something I need that will fit in the basket or my pocket, but I don’t ride. If it makes me sweat, I’m not doing it.” She thought putting it that way might not have been a very good idea, because Zeke made her sweat every time he looked at her. And it seemed like he’d been looking at her a lot. “I like to walk, though. I do a lot of that.”

He snorted. “In the adorable halls of Crockett Elementary School?”

She counted to ten. Twice. Then again. “No, I walk the railroad corridor trails. I’m going to hike a couple of the park trails this morning. They’re pretty and they’re not too difficult even for a hall-walker like me.” She smirked at him. Nana wasn’t down to breakfast yet to see her, so she wouldn’t get in trouble for being snarky.

“Knock yourself out.”

She ignored him, looking up to smile when Emma and Travis came into the inn’s dining room holding hands.

“Hi, Jen-Jen.” Emma kissed her cheek and then, surprisingly, Zeke’s, before sliding into the chair beside Jenny’s. “It’s nice to see you two getting along so well. Family means all the world to us.”

Jenny felt color wash over her cheeks. She had to try harder. Zeke McNeil was going to be her step-something-or-other as of 7:30 this evening. She might as well get used to the idea. “I know, Nana. Are you riding this morning?”

“No, you and I are going to do bride and bridesmaid things like nails and hair and margaritas. I broke down and called your parents, so I’ll need you to help calm your father down when they get here.” Emma chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe we should tell him you’re the one marrying Travis. Lucas will be so happy when he finds out it’s me that he won’t go over the edge.”

Jenny laughed, relieved she wasn’t going to have to break the news to her father. He still hadn’t accepted the fact that she was old enough to drive at night and live on her own.

“What do you think, Jenny?” Travis wore a smile, but it was a nervous one. “Do you think your dad will make things difficult? Do I need to sweep your Nana out of here before he arrives?”

She looked at this sweet handsome man who made her grandmother happy. “You know, he’ll probably try, but he’s actually pretty powerless against Nana, Mom and me when we present a united front, so I wouldn’t give him a lot of thought.”

After breakfast, as they walked into the inn’s large common room to finalize plans for the morning, Zeke murmured to Jenny. “Was that the truth, what you told Pap about your dad?”

The sympathy in his voice made her eyes sting. “We’re going to make it the truth, one way or another. It wouldn’t be the first time Nana sent him to his room.”

He chuckled. “Makes me think of Gran. She never meant to spend her retirement years corralling two teenagers, and Pap was every bit as bad as we were. Sometimes she sent us all to our rooms.”

Jenny laughed. “She must have been terrific.”

“She was.” Wistfulness threaded through his voice. It made Jenny’s heart ache a little, but then he gave her a beaming smile. “So is Emma. Think she’ll let me call her Nana?”

Their gazes met and held. Jenny couldn’t have looked away if her life depended on it. Not that she wanted to. “Let you?” She had to clear her throat. “She’ll insist on it. But don’t get any ideas about being her favorite. That’s still my spot.”

The morning with her grandmother was fun. They drove to a nearby salon and got manicures and pedicures. While they still had cotton wrapped between their toes, one stylist manipulated Jenny’s hair into an intricate braid and another evened up Emma’s sometimes unfortunate attempts at trimming her own hair.

Everyone was so helpful that Emma invited them all to attend the ceremony at the inn that evening. And when they stopped for something to drink at a tearoom across the street from the salon, Emma doled out two more invitations. Make that four—the two women sitting at the table beside theirs paid for their pot of tea in celebration of the wedding, so Emma invited them, too.

“When your granddad and I got married,” she said as they walked to the car, “we went to the parsonage with his friend Harry and your aunt Alice and the pastor married us in his living room. We spent the night at the motel on the edge of Crockett—the one that’s not there anymore, thank you, Lord—and that was our honeymoon. We had a long and pretty happy marriage and I don’t have all that many regrets about it. But the truth is, Jen-Jen, I want it to be different this time, starting with a real wedding.”

Jenny got behind the wheel. “What about Travis?” she asked. “Isn’t he expecting just the four of us? Quiet? Conservative?” Like Grandpa. Like Nana’s whole life outside of pink highlights in her hair.

Emma snorted. “Two of the loveliest things about Travis are that he’s neither quiet nor conservative.”

At the inn, Jenny walked in with her grandmother. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”

“A short nap. We’ve already made arrangements for the room and the pastor. I’ve ordered the flowers and the cake.” Emma looked gleeful. “I want to be well rested.”

Jenny grinned at her grandmother. “I love you, Nana. I think I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back in a few hours. Will you be okay?”

Her grandmother looked past her, her eyes softening. “I’ll be fine. You enjoy your walk.”

Jenny turned in time to see Travis and Zeke approach, still dressed for riding. Travis, his helmet in his hand, his longish gray hair sweaty around the edges, had eyes only for Emma.

Jenny’s heart melted. This is what Nana deserves, someone to look at her like that. When she met Zeke’s eyes, the softening sensation intensified. She thought, in spite of herself, that she’d love to have him look at her the way Travis did her grandmother.

“Want some company?” he asked when he’d heard her plans. “If you can wait for me to change, I’ll go with you.” He smiled. The melting continued. “Actually, I’m starved to death. Can we have lunch first? Pap and I passed a place on the road that looked great, but he wouldn’t stop.”

“Okay.” Jenny nodded agreement and took a seat at one of the tables in the common room to wait. She drew a notebook and pen out of her purse—she had a list to make, and as soon as they left the park and her phone came back to life, she needed to call her mother.

* * *

They rode to the restaurant in his Mustang. “It was Gran’s.” Zeke patted the vintage car’s dash. “She and Pap had matching ones, and when she died, he couldn’t face either of them anymore, so he gave them to Seth and me. We don’t drive them very often, but we still keep them. Before you ask, I admit that the reason I drove it here this weekend was to remind Pap of Gran and how much he loved her.” He flinched as he thought back to the conversation he and Pap had had on this morning’s ride. “He didn’t need reminding.”

Jenny turned to look at him, pulling her knee, clad in brown leggings, up on the seat.

She had really beautiful legs.

“I have an idea,” she said.

He listened all the way up to when he pulled in and parked at the restaurant. He turned to meet her eyes. “I love your hair.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but he couldn’t be sorry he had. He wanted to kiss her, too, and put his arm around her and tuck her head into his shoulder. But he wasn’t going to say that.Thinking about it was stupid enough.

She blushed, touching the braid that curved around the back of her head. “Thank you. I’m enjoying it. My kids would have it pulled out in no time if I wore it to school.”

For a few beats, they didn’t say anything. Except they did. Their gazes met and clung and they were holding hands without Zeke knowing how it had happened. He knew about wordless conversations—he’d seen Pap and Gran have them—but he’d never anticipated having any of his own. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he cleared his throat. “I think it’s great,” he said. “Your idea, I mean. How can I help?”

“You can—” She stopped, her expression foggy. He thought she was having as much trouble keeping her mind on the matters at hand as he was.

He certainly hoped she was. “You can make some phone calls, too, if your phone works here.”

“It does.” He’d called Seth with it when he and Pap had made a water stop on their ride. “You do realize we could be grounded until we’re in our forties for what we’re about to do.”

“I know.” She grinned at him. “Isn’t it cool?”

They made calls while they ate, laughing across the booth’s table as their plans progressed. Jenny’s notebook lay open between them and they added to her lists each time they hung up, his dark stick-figure writing contrasting with her rounded teacher-script.

He paid for their meal over her objections, then gestured for her to precede him when they left the café. As they went toward the car, he put his hand at her waist. She didn’t pull away.

When they got back to the inn, Jenny drew in a sharp, hissing breath. “Oh, boy.”

Zeke swung the Mustang into the space beside her car. “What?”

“My folks are here.” She got out of the car, her movements stilted.

He met her at the trunk. “You knew they were coming. They were already on the road when you talked to your mom.”

She grimaced. “Yeah, but I was hoping she’d find a way to leave Dad at a rest stop along the way.”

Zeke burst into laughter at the same time as she stumbled on her not-the-least-bit-sensible heels and fell sideways into his arms. He held her there, and she stayed, even after the laughter stopped. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked.

“No.” But the answer was really only a breath, not a word.

“Me, either, but I think you can really like someone a lot within twenty-four hours.”

Her eyes, bright green in the late autumn sunlight, lit in response. “I think so, too.”

“Jennifer!”

She turned, though she didn’t move away. “Hi, Dad.”

A big guy, accompanied by a woman who looked uncannily like Jenny, walked toward them. From his tonsure haircut to the deep scowl on his face, Lucas Boyle looked like a bully. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, ignoring Zeke. “What have you and your grandmother cooked up? Even if she goes through with this so-called marriage, I’ll get it annulled. She’s obviously slipped over that edge of sanity she’s been courting ever since Dad died.”

“For heaven’s lake, Lucas, lighten up.” The pretty woman beside him sounded as strained as she looked. “Your mother’s the sanest one among us. You should be glad if she’s found happiness.” She turned her attention to Jenny. “I’m sorry, honey. I tried to calm him down, but—”

Lucas interrupted. “Don’t encourage her in this nonsense, Lorraine.” He grasped his wife’s arm in big fingers. She flinched, and Zeke moved forward, stepping in front of Jenny.

“How do you do, sir? I’m Zeke McNeil.” He extended his hand, hoping Boyle would just let go of Jenny’s mother and take it. “Travis is my grandfather. I know he’s anxious to meet both of you.”

Boyle’s handshake was bone-crushing, meant to intimidate. His eyes, startlingly like Emma’s, were dark, his expression unyielding. “I’m anxious to meet him, too, and to set him straight where my mother’s concerned.”

“Leave it alone, Dad.” Jenny stepped to her mother’s other side, forming an uncomfortable semicircle with the others. “Travis is a very nice man and Nana loves him.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” But he sounded less surly. The look he gave his wife was apologetic. He frowned at Zeke. “What does your grandfather want?”

“Your mother.”

“And what do you want?”

Your daughter. “For Pap to be happy. Emma is the way.” Beside him, Jenny’s hands slipped into his, and he heard the message as clearly as if she’d spoken it.

We’re in this together.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You look beautiful, Nana.” Jenny smiled at the reflection she shared with her mother and grandmother. “You, too, Mom.”

Her mother put her arms around Jenny and Emma’s waists and squeezed. “Yes, we do.”

They drew apart, none of them sitting down because they didn’t want to wrinkle the soft silk of their fall-color dresses. “Does this make you think about getting married, honey?”

Her mother would never push—it wasn’t in her—but Jenny knew when an “I’d like to be a grandmother” speech was coming on. She grinned. “I am married. To the kids in my classroom. When I find a guy who can satisfy me as much or make me laugh as hard as they do, I’ll give marriage due consideration.” She shrugged. “I love you. I love Dad. But I don’t want a relationship like yours.”

“I don’t blame you,” her mother said bluntly. “It’s hard being married to Lucas Boyle, and it’s always been hard. But the truth is, when I’m not wanting to kill him or send him back to Nana, your dad satisfies me and makes me laugh every day of my life.”

“He’s just like his father.” For a moment, standing with her bouquet of asters and mums in her hands, Emma looked sad. “I’m sorry for that in some ways.” She touched her daughter-in-law’s cheek. “In other ways, well, you two have made each other happy. And you’ve raised a wonderful daughter.” She laughed, the sound catching in her throat. “With my help, of course. She’d never have jumped out of a plane if it hadn’t been for me.”

Jenny frowned, trying to think…but whatever it was escaped her, and she picked up her flowers.

A few minutes later, they went downstairs to the meeting room that had been set aside for the wedding. The desk had called earlier, apologizing every which way but up, but they’d had to move the event to the larger room because something had sprung an unfortunate leak in the small one Travis and Emma had reserved. It looked lovely, though, and there would be no extra charge for the use of the large room.

“We’re going to echo in there,” Emma worried while they rode down in the elevator. “Although that might be good, since Travis is getting deafer than he cares to admit.”

“Nothing like you, Nana,” Jenny murmured.

Her grandmother gave her a blank look. “Huh?”

“I said—” The burst of laughter from the other two women stopped her, and she laughed, too. “Got me, didn’t you? Okay, I concede that your hearing is flawless.”

“It certainly is.”

Piano music swelled into the hall as they approached the room, playing “Over the Rainbow.” Emma frowned. “That sounds like Mary Jean from church playing. She always misses…right there. Hear it?”

“Hmm.” Lorraine raised her eyebrows. “What goes on, do you think?”

The door opened then, and Lucas stepped out. “The flower girl is done. That little Charlotte did a good job, Jenny. I’m going to hire her when she grows up—she did everything the teaching assistant said and didn’t argue once.” He kissed his wife and daughter. “You all look pretty. Lorri, I’m supposed to tell you as soon as the song starts again, it’s your turn, then Jenny after you. So, Mom, you ready to do this thing?”

Emma’s eyes glimmered with tears. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on, Gran, is a ‘real wedding.’ It’s being videotaped, so you’ll be able to see the whole thing later. For now, just enjoy.” Jenny kissed Emma’s cheek, then followed her mother up the aisle created by the placement of the tables and chairs.

The room was full. At least half the congregation of Crockett Community Church and nearly all the Rusty Buckets were there—including Mary Jean at the piano—plus more friends and a few relatives from Michigan who’d been driving ever since Jenny called them. Some of Jenny’s students and their families were there—Emma was class grandmother and they all loved her. There were many people Jenny didn’t know, too, ones Zeke had called as they sat in the restaurant.

Oh, Zeke. Wow. He wore a dark suit that fit…well. Really well.

He stood between his grandfather and another Travis McNeil lookalike. That must be Seth, the “nicer, smarter” brother, who had flown in from Scotland as a surprise for his grandfather even before Zeke and Jenny had made their calls.

The stylists and manicurists were there, too, as well as the women from the tearoom and several from the inn’s staff. Pastor Mike from Crockett Community Church, who should have been on his way to spend Thanksgiving weekend with his in-laws, waited on Travis’s other side. His wife was among the attendees, and she didn’t look as if she minded being there.

It was, for two people whom Jenny no longer doubted would have a lovely marriage, truly a “real wedding.”

The ceremony was both spiritual and funny. In the course of the vows, the bride and groom even extracted promises from Lucas to “behave himself” and from Seth, Zeke and Jenny to be “good grandchildren” who never made liars out of their grandparents if said grandparents bragged about them.

At the end, after a steamy kiss and a round of applause, the bride and groom walked down the aisle together while Mary Jean played “We Gather Together.” Zeke extended his arm and Jenny took it.

“So,” he said under cover of the music and laughter that surrounded them, “how about dinner on Friday? Just the two of us. No family, no friends, no keys locked in cars. A real date.”

Charlotte approached, still carrying her flower basket, and Jenny swung the little girl to her hip, hugging her close. “Do you think I should go out with Mr. McNeil, Charley?”

“Yes.” The little girl nodded solemnly, her ponytails bobbing. “Grandma Emma says he’s a fireman. That means he’ll keep you safe.”

Open your eyes, pretty girl. I’ll keep you safe. That was it. That was why he was so familiar.

“Well, then.” Jenny nodded decisively. “I guess the answer’s yes, Zeke, but you have to keep me safe.”

“I can do that.” He smiled at Charlotte. “You look very pretty today.”

“I know.” She beamed at him. “Miss Boyle doesn’t get mad at you if you throw up. You should probably marry her.”

“Thank you, Miss Charley.” He leaned in to kiss Jenny, his arm going around her waist and tucking her into his side, where she felt as though she totally belonged. When he drew back, his eyes smiled down into hers. “I think maybe I will.”

EPILOGUE

One year later Turkey

Run State Park

Seth McNeil frowned across the breakfast table in the Narrows at his brother and Jenny. “This is serious business.”

“Of course it is,” Zeke agreed. “In the event of a divorce, Jenny absolutely cannot have my Mustang. If you’d seen her drive, you’d know why.”

“And Zeke can’t have my grandmother even if she does like him best,” said Jenny primly. “I had her first.”

“I get half your grandmother.” Seth made notes.

Zeke scowled at him. “You’re not in this.”

“Yes, I am. I’m writing up this prenup for free and this is my second Thanksgiving in Turkey Run State Park where I have to pay for my own room and buy my own meals. Plus, I wrote out Pap’s new will—it says I get half of Nana.”

His brother sat up straight. “You’re my best man, my lawyer and my brother—doesn’t that mean you’re paying for my room and meals, too? I’m a firefighter and you’re a lawyer and we’re paid accordingly—it makes sense to me that you’d do these things pro bono. I won’t charge you if you ever need someone to get a cat out of a tree. I might for a fire, but—”

Jenny cleared her throat before the conversation could descend deeper into the ridiculous. “If he gets Nana, I want Pap.”

“That works. That was in the will, too.” Zeke nodded agreement. “But you have to keep your father.”

“Well, that’s it. All bets are off.” Jenny grinned at Seth and hooked her arms around Zeke’s neck. “Since neither of us will take Dad, we’d better stay married.”

They signed the handwritten document, hugged each other to make it legal, and parted to get ready for the wedding. Jenny ran back to invite the waitress, who assured her many of the staff would be in attendance.

It had been a short and exciting year. Zeke had come to Crockett for his days off, Jenny had spent weekends in Chicago. When an opening came up in May at the Crawfordsville Fire Department, Zeke applied for and got it. He bought Emma’s house and asked Jenny to please marry him and live with him in it so Seth could use her apartment when he came to visit.

“I don’t really want to get married,” he’d said, “but Seth’s a terrible houseguest and he snores. I’d rather take my chances with you.”

When Jenny said no, he showed up in her classroom with two other firefighters and asked her students to plead his case. Charlotte held out for a ride on a fire engine, but in the end, they all did. Even if Jenny could resist him, he figured, she could never resist her kids.

He was right.

Their wedding was even less conventional than the one a year ago. The bride and groom walked in together, accompanied by Seth and Jenny’s best friend from college. Their only music was Jenny’s class singing “We Gather Together.” The bride and groom waved at the friends assembled in the same room where Emma and Travis had wed, then stood with their attendants, Emma and Jenny’s parents to make their vows. Travis, who had become a justice of the peace because he thought it sounded interesting, officiated.

They left for their honeymoon after breakfast with the family on Thanksgiving morning, Jenny’s turquoise beach suitcase in the back of the SUV that had been the family’s wedding gift to them. Their bicycles rode on the rack. Before they turned onto the highway, Zeke handed her an envelope.

She opened it and read the note inside. She had to blink back tears. “When did you remember?”

“Nana said something at Thanksgiving dinner last year about you and her tandem jumping when you graduated. I remembered telling my brother about the girl with green eyes, but it was a while before I was sure you were her. I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I didn’t right away. I just knew you looked familiar. Felt familiar. Kind of like my heartbeat.”

“So it wasn’t love at first sight or in twenty-four hours.” He tried for a sad expression, though his eyes danced. “It took us eight years.” He leaned over to kiss her, sweet and lingering. “But we’ve got the rest of our lives to keep it going.”

She tucked the note up on the visor, knowing it would stay there until the ink faded away. Even then, she would remember every word. Keep your eyes open, pretty girl. We’ll keep each other safe.

She leaned to kiss him. “Happy Thanksgiving. Let’s get started.”

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love Every Time We Say Goodbye by USA TODAY bestselling author Liz Flaherty. Available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere

Italian Sausage and Cabbage by Liz Flaherty

I cook this in the oven, but I keep it warm in a Crock-Pot. You can add all kinds of things to this to personalize it (cheese, potatoes, onions, etc.), but if you’re in a hurry, it’s great the way it is.

Yield: 4–6 Servings

Ingredients

6–8 lean Italian sausages—hot, mild or a mixture; cook’s choice

1 head of cabbage, cut into wedges or chunks

2 cups water

3 tablespoons butter

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

2. Place sausages in the bottom of a Dutch oven or a casserole. Place cabbage over the sausage and add water. Dot cabbage with butter, cover, and bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes.

Note: The size of the pan you use depends on how much cabbage you have, but you want to be able to have the pan full yet cover it completely. I use a mid-sized graniteware roasting pan.

Another note: I use at least a tablespoon more butter than the recipe calls for. I like a little decadence in my cabbage!

Her Thanksgiving Soldier

By Leigh Riker

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Recipe: Thanksgiving Leftovers Casserole

CHAPTER ONE

The back of his neck prickled.

Every muscle in his body tensed. Caleb Henderson had lived with that feeling, night and day, on patrols and in base camps around the world. In dead-cold winters and desert-hot summers. Surrounded by rocks, in places where everything was some shade of ugly brown and all but smelled of danger.

This tingle just under his skin, though, wasn’t quite the same.

Standing on the porch in this quiet neighborhood near Scottsdale—where the desert landscaping only reminded him of where he’d been—he sensed someone behind him. Caleb spun around.

And there she was.

“Daisy?” When he’d left to join the military, she’d still been a teenager with gangly legs and doe eyes. “Daisy McCall.” So she was still here.

“And you are…?” she said.

That stopped him.

She looked him over, from his short-cropped hair to his cowboy boots. The roping heels added another inch to his six-foot height. Everything on the outside looked the same, even after his years in black-ops. As for the inside…he didn’t want to go there.

“It’s me,” he finally said. “Caleb. Henderson.”

She grinned. “I was kidding.” Then she threw her arms around his neck—stepped back just as fast—and the prickling went away. “What are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s you!”

He shrugged. “I’m on leave. Passing through. Your brother around?”

She shook her head. “Jared’s in California. On business.”

“Oh.” If you ever need a place to stay…Long ago Jared had promised him a bed, a hot meal, even a beer or two. Anytime.

“He’ll be home for Thanksgiving.”

Caleb stared.

She waved a hand in front of his face. “You know, the holiday? Harvest home. Kick-off for the Christmas season.” She kept going. “Turkey Day. Stuffing and cranberries. Pumpkin pie.”

“Oh,” he said again. “Right. We always have turkey dinner—even when the bullets are flying.” Which was one reason for this leave. Maybe he’d had enough. Maybe it was time to get out, retire from his elite, top secret black-ops team, but that would mean making another hard decision.

“Well, I’ll…you can…just tell Jared I said hey.” He headed down the steps, his shoulder brushing hers as he passed, sending another wave of awareness through him.

That was something new and more dangerous than an ambush. In his line of work Caleb didn’t see many women. The few he did encounter either weren’t his type or were not the kind a guy took home to meet his mama. As if he had a mother or a home.

And wasn’t he the guest of honor at his own pity party?

Halfway down the front steps, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

Caleb whirled.

Her eyes wide with alarm, Daisy backed up, fell off the step then landed hard in the gravel.

He reached out a hand to help her up. Her arm had connected with a barrel cactus and the skin was now flecked with fine, hairy spines. He wanted to shout medic! But he managed to control the urge.

“I was going to say ‘wait,’” she murmured, pushing her hair behind one ear. That beautiful shade of brown shot through with gold. She had warm brown eyes, which he remembered too well.

“Sorry, I’m a bit jumpy. You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve done worse while I was gardening—or pushing one of my patients to try harder.”

“You’re a doctor now?”

“Manager,” she said. “I run the Sonoran Desert Rehab Center.” She smiled. “‘You can do more than you think you can.’ That’s our motto.”

She was still smiling, but her lips had turned white.

“Let’s get you into the house,” he said. “You have a pair of tweezers?”

“Yes. But—”

“Let’s go, soldier.”

He guided Daisy inside, sat her on the living room sofa then followed her directions to the bathroom, where he found a small first aid kit.

“Don’t fuss,” she said as he re-examined her arm. “You live in Arizona, you learn to deal with cactus spines.”

“Don’t be stoic. If it hurts, you can yell. I’ve heard plenty of yelling.”

Every guy he’d ever known who’d stepped on an IED or been shot by a sniper, first thing he’d done was cry for his mother. It was a reflex or some kind of primal instinct. Caleb had always wondered whom he’d yell for when his time came. But then, it never had. Not yet.

“Hold still.”

“You don’t have to tweeze them all. They’ll sting for a while, but I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t stop. Once he’d gently swabbed her skin with antiseptic, he peered closer, looking for stray cactus spines. “Think I got ‘em,” he said. “You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Are you still this cheerful all the time?”

“It’s still my nature.” She drew her arm from his grasp. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Would I do that?”

She grinned. “I don’t know about now but you used to. You and Jared.”

“You were a girl. It was our duty—our obligation—to make life difficult.”

“To tease,” she said. “You guys were merciless.”

“Yeah.” Which didn’t seem to bother her. If only life had stayed that simple, that…he couldn’t say good. Except for Jared and Daisy, it hadn’t been so good then either.

His gaze drifted over her, taking in the changes the years had brought. Her figure was slim, and her legs were no longer gangly. Nice, he thought.

Caleb jumped to his feet. “If you’re really okay, I better get going.”

“To where?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Into Phoenix, I guess. For tonight.”

“To a hotel?”

“Or maybe a motel near the airport,” he said. He was supposed to be in Virginia.

“I doubt you’ll find a room. This close to Thanksgiving, they’ll all be booked.”

“I should have given Jared a heads-up. My fault.”

“Don’t rush off. He’ll be back late Wednesday.”

“I’ll be gone by then,” he said.

She repeated her question. “To where?”

Caleb couldn’t answer. He didn’t know that, either. Since he’d taken leave—for the first time in a while—he’d wandered around until he thought of Phoenix. Jared McCall and his sister had been the closest he’d ever come to family.

As if she’d made some decision, Daisy stood up. Her arm from elbow to wrist looked as red as fire. Yet she kept smiling. He hadn’t seen anything like that in ten years…the last time he’d seen her.

Retreat, he ordered himself. But he couldn’t seem to move.

“We have a casita out back. It’s small but clean with a good bed and a kitchenette. You’d be comfortable there. Stay.” She tilted her head. “You haven’t become a serial killer, have you?”

As a woman alone in the house, she was right to wonder about that. Caleb pretended to examine himself. His clean new shirt, his pressed jeans—he’d pulled off the tags this morning—his boots. “Not the last time I looked.”

“Well, then. Let me show you the guest quarters.”

* * *

The man was a hot mess. And way too attractive for Daisy’s comfort.

She led him through the house anyway. How could she refuse?

He was obviously under stress, most likely combat-related. His deep tan couldn’t hide the darker shadows under his gray eyes and, if she didn’t miss her guess, he was about a blink away from falling apart.

Bad sign.

“My brother travels a lot in his job,” she told Caleb. “Kim goes with him sometimes. It made sense for me to give up my apartment and move back here—closer to my job. I’ve become the resident caretaker and the rent is free.”

“Didn’t know Jared was married. Who’s the wife?”

“A nurse,” she said. “Private duty, so she’s able to pick her own schedule. Jared met Kim when our mom was sick.”

“Wouldn’t have expected Jared to fall for a nurse,” Caleb mused behind her. “Remember how he used to be afraid of needles?”

“Getting him to the doctor was an ordeal.”

“What about you?” He glanced at her ring finger. “No husband?”

“I like being single.” Well, like wasn’t the word…and single hadn’t been her plan. Once, she’d had Bryan. Now all she had was her work.

“Me, too.”

She wouldn’t share the rest of her story with Caleb. He obviously needed a place to stay, but he wouldn’t stay long. That suited Daisy, even though she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“With any luck, I’ll save enough while I’m living here for a down payment on my first house.”

Then she’d be able to make a fresh start, away from the memories she thought she’d left behind on Hayden Road in the apartment she’d shared with Bryan.

But now Caleb Henderson had shown up.

Frowning, Daisy opened the back door onto the enclosed courtyard. A blast of midday sun was a shock, like seeing Caleb after so many years, looking as if he expected to be shot.

She saw that expression often. A fair percentage of the patients at the center were veterans, trying to heal their bodies and reorganize their inner lives. Too many of them didn’t succeed. If she could help Caleb, she had to try.

“This is it,” she said, pushing open the casita’s door.

He looked around. Caleb picked up a pink coffee mug then set it down. He glanced at a flower arrangement on the table. Studied the lace curtains at the kitchen window. “It’s a girly place. Yours?”

“For the time being.” She swooped through the living area, gathering a soft blanket from the sofa, a stack of professional magazines from the table, a stray coffee mug. “I’m usually neat, but work’s been busy this week—the holidays aren’t a good time for some people—so I’m running behind.” She also had Jared’s house—their family home once—to clean before Thanksgiving.

“You can’t give up your space for me.”

“I can,” she said. “The guest bed in the house is too tiny for you.”

“Then it’s tiny for you, too.”

Caleb was a big man. Broad-shouldered. Dark-haired. Tough. Or so she was supposed to think. He had turned to face her, looking instead like the lost kid he’d been years ago, the boy her mother had taken in whenever he came home with Jared. And Daisy was her mother’s daughter. She tamped down the last of her doubts.

Yes, they’d lost touch over the years. But…he was here now.

“Let me do this,” she said.

Friends, she thought. That’s all they would be. Again.

Because, even though she wanted to help Caleb, in a purely professional way of course, he also reminded her of what she’d lost. She would have to be very careful. The last thing she needed was another man in uniform.

CHAPTER TWO

“Rise and shine. It’s reveille, or whatever.”

The words, along with the rustle of the curtains being opened, snapped Caleb out of a restless sleep. He flung one arm over his eyes. How was he here again—and in Daisy McCall’s bed? That fact, and some other stuff, had kept him up most of the night. When he slept, he dreamed of sniper fire, explosions, men bleeding in his arms. The nightmares kept getting worse.

Now she was opening the blinds, too, letting in the harsh morning sun. Caleb spoke from behind his arm. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven. I need to be at work by eight. You’re coming with me.”

He groaned. “No, I’m not.”

“Get up. Get dressed. There’s coffee at the house.”

“I don’t have to be at work,” he muttered. He was on leave—didn’t have a job right now. Caleb didn’t even know what kind of job he’d look for when—if—he decided to quit the team. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been drawn here by some unseen force. Or maybe Daisy’d had something to do with it.

“You’re my assistant today,” she said. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Get moving.”

Go, go, go. The unspoken words sliced through his head like the wicked blade of a KA-BAR knife. He’d lived with commands for so long, he didn’t know anything else. Go meant go!

“You would have made a great drill sergeant,” he grumbled then motioned for her to turn her back. “I left my pajamas back at base camp.”

“Oh.”

Caleb wrapped the top sheet around his waist and headed for the bathroom. It was filled with feminine stuff. Lotions and perfumes. Even a pink toothbrush. Foreign territory.

“Meet you in the kitchen,” she called through the closed door.

He considered going back to bed. She couldn’t physically pull him out. Why would he want to go to her rehab center? See a bunch of sick people? Hurt people? People with their heads all messed up? Caleb had seen more than his share of the walking wounded. Also the ones who weren’t so lucky.

The bottom of his empty stomach dropped out. Didn’t matter if they were sprawled in the dirt somewhere or lying in a pristine white hospital bed struggling to live. Pretty soon they were all dead.

He put on his jeans, his boots, found a clean shirt in his duffle bag. He shook out the wrinkles then put that on, too.

A few minutes later he was in the kitchen like some private answering roll call, slugging down caffeine and bracing for another unpleasant experience. He never had been able to say no to Daisy. If he did, she’d simply overrule him as she always had. She was certainly not a girl now, or a childhood friend. Caleb liked the woman even better.

Look out, he told himself. He wouldn’t be here long. And if he wasn’t mistaken, she had issues of her own. That cheery, oh-so-sociable attitude didn’t fool him.

The drive to the rehabilitation center didn’t take long. It looked like the rest of the low, stucco-sided buildings in the area. But inside was a welcoming lobby with a big fireplace, a tropical fish tank and a resident longhaired cat that wandered around. It rubbed against the legs of an elderly woman in a wheelchair and her face brightened.

“Good morning, Sunshine!”

The cat hopped onto her lap for a pet. Purr. He could hear it from halfway across the room.

“There’s my girl,” the woman said. She had dyed red hair and pale blue eyes that somehow seemed friendly. “And how are we today?”

Daisy said a few words to the receptionist then hooked her arm through his and led him toward the wheelchair. “Sophie, I want you to meet my friend.”

“Well,” she said, her gaze wandering over him.

Daisy grinned. “Caleb’s a friend of Jared’s, too. He’s home on leave from—?”

He half smiled. “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”

Sophie reached for his hand. “Thank you for your service.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Daisy stepped back. “I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted.” She glanced at Caleb, who hoped his growing alarm wasn’t visible on his face. “Sophie, don’t let me catch you flirting now.” Then she walked into her office behind the reception desk and shut the door.

“Daisy,” Caleb called after her. What could he possibly say to a woman almost old enough to be his great-grandmother?

“Sit down,” Sophie said in a tone that didn’t allow for anything but obedience. “I need to take a better look at you.”

Caleb cleared his throat. “I really should—” What? He’d never known either of his grandmothers, and for the past ten years his whole life had been black-ops. Still, he sat.

“Now, then,” Sophie said, studying him before she suddenly sat back with a faint moan. She seemed to be on the verge of tears.

Caleb straightened. “You okay?” There were no medics to call here.

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “You, I’m not that certain.”

Caleb had no answer to that. She was sharper than he’d expected. Like the tribal elders he’d dealt with in too many barren hot spots.

He cleared his throat. “I did my job,” he said. “No more, no less.”

“And now you’re back. Safe, if not well.”

Caleb shifted in his seat. She kept looking at him, finding things he didn’t want her to see.

“I had a great-nephew,” she said. “A wonderful man. Very brave, as I’m sure you are, too. He served in the first Gulf War. Sadly,” she went on, “he didn’t come home. You’re lucky, Caleb.”

“Yeah. I know.” So far.

She probed further. “You must have lost friends. Fellow soldiers.”

“I have. Yes. Quite a few,” he admitted with a pang of fresh grief for Sean Denton. He always remembered Sean first. “One of them was practically a kid. He fell for this girl over there, married her, and they had a baby together.”

“Something positive in the midst of so much violence,” Sophie said.

“Until he was…killed.”

“In combat?”

“No,” Caleb said. “The day his daughter was born, insurgents bombed the hospital. Denton and his bride were killed instantly.”

“Oh, dear. And their baby?”

“She’s with another buddy of mine, my team’s former leader. Brig and his wife, Molly, adopted Laila.”

“That’s a wonderful story—one with a bad beginning but a happy ending.” She paused. “Do you keep in touch?”

“When I can,” he said. He’d been meaning to call Brig. “Actually, our whole team kind of adopted Laila. I was the point man, who kept everyone updated about her. I used to joke she had a dozen fathers. Laila just knocks me out.”

“You like children.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much experience.”

Caleb blinked. He always melted, just went plain gooey inside, whenever he thought of the baby who’d been orphaned before she was even a day old. Kind of like him. She was still the cutest little kid ever. But he never shed a tear. He’d learned long ago to keep his feelings to himself.

When Sophie reached out again, patting his arm with her age-speckled hand, he jumped.

“Sorry. Got lost in all that for a minute.”

“Of course you did.” She peered into his eyes, as if she could see straight into his damaged soul. “You poor boy.”

* * *

Caleb was too quiet. Daisy had seen that kind of withdrawal before, as if it was easier to stay wherever he’d been rather than try to fit in where he was now. Yet another bad sign.

She’d been in a similar place right after she’d lost Bryan. The worst thing would be to let Caleb sink deeper into the abyss. Daisy knew how hard it was to climb out.

As she pulled out of the center’s parking lot, Daisy realized what she needed to do. “Let’s go shopping,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Retail therapy. We need to get things for Thanksgiving.”

“Can you drop me at the house?” He gazed out the passenger window. “You got me up early. I might take a nap.”

She ignored all that. “Have you ever been to a turkey farm?”

“No.”

“Now’s your chance. I always buy a fresh turkey.”

Daisy had hoped his visit with Sophie, who’d been having one of her better days, would do the trick, but Caleb had never quite come out of his shell. That bothered her. Including him in her preparations for the holiday had seemed the next right step. Which, of course, meant spending time with him.

At the farm, even Daisy had to admit the noise was pretty loud. Caleb covered his ears with both hands. He paced back and forth by the pen that held a bunch of plump fowl and kept glancing over his shoulder. The only thing keeping him from a dash for the car must have been his fear of being seen as less than a macho man. Finally, he gestured at the turkeys.

“I’ve always heard they’re too dumb to come inside when it’s raining.”

“But they’re tasty,” she said.

“I’m still not a fan.”

“You just have to get past the squawking and their odd appearance.”

“You can’t distract me with these birds. I haven’t forgotten how you set me up this morning with Sophie.”

His eyes sparked with the temper she’d nearly forgotten he had. When Caleb had first come home with Jared, he’d been a surly boy. The only emotion he’d seemed comfortable with was anger, and Daisy hadn’t known how to respond. But now she’d had plenty of professional experience. “I think she did you some good.”

“I’m not one of your patients, Daisy. I don’t need a shrink—even one disguised as a sweet old lady.”

She wagged a finger at him. “Sophie wouldn’t like to hear you call her that.”

He let out a breath. “Not funny.”

“No?” She poked his shoulder. “I never did like your angry young man pose. I don’t like it now.”

He grinned like a Halloween pumpkin, but his eyes stayed grim.

“Like me better this way?”

“Yes, but not much. I want to see a real smile.”

Daisy didn’t get her wish. His gaze sharpened. In the pen a couple of turkeys were flapping their wings and flying a foot or two off the ground, lashing out with their feet. Trying to kill each other?

“Can we get out of here,” Caleb said.

He waited in the car while Daisy paid for the turkey she’d chosen.

When they’d left the farm behind, he asked, “Why is Sophie in your rehab center? Is she sick?”

Daisy hesitated to tell him about her mild dementia. Sophie didn’t want anyone to know. “She had a heart attack several months ago,” she said, which was also true. “She’s still regaining her strength—thus, the wheelchair. She’ll probably go to an assisted living facility soon. I’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

“I think you’d miss anyone, Daisy.”

“I do,” she admitted. “I miss all my patients when they’re ready for the real world again. I miss Jared and Kim the minute they leave for a trip.” I missed you. And then, there was Bryan.

“Who do you miss most?”

Daisy almost drove off the road. “I told you.”

“I meant a specific someone. Your someone.”

“That’s way too spooky,” she said, pulling into the driveway. Shaking, she put the car in Park.

Who knew he could be so insightful? She supposed that, as long as she was trying to probe his soft spots, Caleb had a right to know about hers, even when she didn’t want him to get too close.

“I was engaged once,” she said at last, running a finger around the steering wheel. “He…Bryan was a firefighter. If you recall, Phoenix isn’t the easiest place to be a fireman. It’s better than it used to be, but sometimes the water pressure still isn’t that great and whole blocks can burn down while everyone stands around feeling helpless.” She took a breath. “We’d already booked our wedding venue and the reception. I’d even bought my dress before he…one night he got called to a fire in a strip of commercial buildings near our apartment.” She tried to sound dispassionate as Caleb might. “There were people inside. He went after them. The roof caved in—he never came out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She bit her lip. “I loved him very much.”

Caleb touched her forearm. “It’s hard to lose people.”

A second later, she was in his strong arms. Her head dropped onto his solid shoulder and she clung to him, weeping—something she tried to do only when she was alone. “I haven’t done this in weeks,” she said at last, dashing tears away.

But Caleb wouldn’t let her pull back.

“I’m an idiot,” he whispered with a light kiss to her forehead. “You don’t have to say any more.”

Except in that moment, she did. He tightened his embrace and she almost lost it again. Because being in Caleb’s arms, being held by him, seemed as dangerous as his war, wherever it might be.

“I can tell you one more thing. I’ll never fall for a man in uniform again.”

CHAPTER THREE

“You’re in Phoenix?” Brig Collier, Caleb’s former team leader, paused a moment before asking, “Why?”

“I grew up here,” Caleb said. “That is, whenever my uncle wasn’t traveling on the professional golf circuit and dragging me with him.”

On the other end of the line, Brig sighed. “Thought you were coming to see us. Molly’s already planned the holiday menu with all your favorites.”

“I was headed for Virginia, but I decided to drop in on Jacoby then Morris.” The two men had left their black-ops unit some time before Brig.

“I hear Jacoby’s got two kids with another on the way,” Brig said.

“He’s still looking for a job. Unemployed. And Morris is drinking,” Caleb replied.

“Sorry to hear that. It’s a big problem.” Caleb heard the worry in Brig’s tone. “Henderson, get your behind down here for Thanksgiving—”

“I’m already kind of obligated here,” he said, “to an old friend. Friends.

I really want to see you guys and I will, soon, but…”

“I know it’s not easy,” Brig said.

Caleb tensed. He’d told Brig about the decision he was trying to make. Stay with the team. Or quit, like the others. Deliberately, he misunderstood.

“Yeah, I’ve known these people for a long time and they’re not military so it’s different. But Daisy—one of the friends—wants me to stick around.”

“I meant it’s not easy making the choice. Coming back.”

True, but Caleb didn’t want to get into a gritty discussion—another reason he’d postponed the trip to Virginia. If Brig didn’t see through him, Molly certainly would. And then there was Laila.

Caleb had saved every email Brig had sent about his daughter—she was nearly two now. He’d had some crazy idea that as long as he got news from the States of his little lady’s first tooth, her first solid food, he wouldn’t end up like Sean Denton. Laila had been his link to the real, and better, world. His good luck charm.

“I’m doing fine,” he said at last.

Brig gave up. “You want to talk to Laila?”

“She talks?” The last time he’d actually seen her, she was a newborn in a crib.

“Oops, lost your chance,” Brig said, a grin in his voice. “She just whizzed past chasing the dog.”

Caleb knew Brig had meant to disarm him, so to speak. Daisy had tried to do the same thing earlier with the turkey farm.

“Text me some new pictures,” he said.

“Will do.” Brig took a deep breath. “You know, Molly’s pregnant. This’ll be our first baby together.”

“Yeah? That’s great,” he said, but a pang of envy stopped him from saying anything else.

“I could use a hand here. How’d you like to help me train new warriors?”

“I’ll think about it.” No, he wouldn’t. If he did decide to leave the team, he wouldn’t want any reminders.

“You don’t come, I’ll come after you,” Brig said. “I’ve never left a man behind.” After a brief pause, he added, “Daisy? Now I get it. She single?”

“In a way,” he said, remembering how she’d cried in his arms about Bryan. “But it’s not like that.”

Brig laughed. “Henderson, it’s always like that.”

* * *

On Wednesday morning Daisy kicked into high gear. After cleaning house while Caleb slept—at least, he hadn’t shown up for coffee yet—she made her grocery list. And, oh, they had to pick up the now-dressed turkey at the farm. As Daisy double checked her list, Caleb came into the kitchen.

And her heart skipped a beat.

She tried to focus on her list, but his image was imprinted on her mind. Sleepy eyes and tousled hair. He looked good enough to…love? Even after yesterday, when she’d cried in the car and he’d kissed her, she wasn’t going there.

“Good morning. How does a trip to the store sound?”

“Like torture.” He poured his coffee. “I’ll hold down the fort,” he said. “Got a few calls to make. Other stuff, too.”

“Really.”

“Well, no. But I’m not a fan of supermarkets—or turkeys.”

“Too bad,” Daisy murmured. There was no way she’d leave him at home. Caleb needed to be around people. Several ex-soldiers at the center were the same. Whether he liked it or not, she would keep trying to get him to open up, hopefully without his knowing it. “I need your help carrying that monster bird. And the rest won’t take long. You can let me know what you’d like for dinner tomorrow. Everyone gets a choice.”

“Not in the military,” he said.

She studied him, frowning. “Hmm. And you’re good with that?”

“For now. I’m trying to decide if it’s time to leave. You have to be in good shape, but after thirty the reflexes start to go, and a lot of guys retire then. Problem is, that only creates another problem. What kind of job could I get, when the military’s all I know?” He hesitated. “Would I be able to fit in somewhere…”

“On the outside,” she said for him.

“Yeah.”

“That would certainly be safer,” she said, as if anything was.

“You have a point. Except I’d also be leaving my team—my friends—behind. Letting them down. How can I do that? They need all the protection they can get.” He paused, then told her about the team and Brig, about Laila and Sean. “He was younger than me, but I guess even he waited too long. He didn’t make it home.”

“That’s a shame.” Daisy’s tone ended the conversation. Bryan hadn’t stayed safe and if Caleb quit his team, she wouldn’t be either. There’d be no uniform in her way, but Caleb would still be a military man. She saw that everyday. She might follow him anywhere when what she should be doing was her job.

But he hadn’t made his decision yet, so Daisy forgot about the future for now and finally got Caleb moving. At the supermarket, he seemed to get into the holiday spirit at last.

Caleb studied a row of cans. “Whole berry or jellied?”

“I make my own sauce. We’ll get two bags of cranberries in Produce.”

He held up a can of pumpkin next. Daisy sighed.

“I know, I should have made my own pie filling, but I’ve been too busy at work. Now I don’t have time. Unless you’d like to prepare a real pumpkin—”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not me. I’m a mincemeat kind of guy.”

She grinned. “Teasing? This will take us twice as long if you don’t cooperate.”

But to her surprise, he grabbed a jar of mincemeat then glanced into their cart. “Looks like you’re going to feed a whole army.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Daisy re-checked her list then marched toward the produce department. “Caleb, the cranberries are all gone.” There wasn’t a bag in sight.

He jogged around a corner. “Over here. There’s a big display.”

Daisy sighed then picked out the best-looking packages, even though Caleb claimed they all looked the same. When Daisy pointed at one too high for her to reach, he stepped behind her and leaned in to cage her between his arms. Warmth shot through her and she was tempted to lean against him.

“Better get one more,” he said.

Standing even closer, he snagged three packages in one hand. He grinned.

“You really smiled,” she said.

“You make me smile.”

There he went again. If she wasn’t careful, Caleb would charm his way straight into her heart—whether he meant to or not. But, like Bryan, he still risked his life every day. She wouldn’t go through that again.

Daisy strode toward the checkout counters, leaving him to wheel the cart.

Back at the house, she’d no sooner put the food in the fridge than her cell phone rang. Daisy took the call then grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

“Trouble?”

“That was the center.” Her mouth tightened. “Sophie’s wandered off.”

* * *

Caleb went with her. The rehab center wasn’t his favorite place, but he did like Sophie.

“Does this happen often?”

“More often than is good for her,” Daisy said, sighing.

“But she’s in a wheelchair.”

“Apparently she left it behind.”

The outer doors were always locked, but someone had disarmed the security system. No one at the facility seemed to know who’d done it. Or why.

That didn’t matter now. Caleb had a mission. He didn’t even have to think. And there were no bullets flying overhead. No one lying in wait. No casualties…unless something happened to Sophie.

A half-hour later a thorough search of the center had found nothing.

“Everybody outside,” he said. “We’ll use a grid pattern. I’ll take the woods.”

For Caleb, this was no challenge. As he crept deeper into the thickly wooded area behind the rehab center, listening for the slightest sound, he heard Sophie’s voice. She was talking to a bird in a tree.

“Who’s your friend,” he said, laying a light hand on her frail arm.

“A fledgling. He fell. I put him back on this branch.”

Caleb gently turned her around. “He’s okay, then. Let me take you…back. You can talk with Sunshine.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet his. She frowned.

“Who are you? You’re not my son.”

“I’m Caleb, remember?”

“I don’t know you.” Her voice grew agitated. “Go away!”

“I was here yesterday,” he began then stopped. Why hadn’t Daisy warned him? Caleb had seen more than one guy who’d suffered brain damage after getting hurt. In Sophie’s case, aging must be the cause.

Fortunately, her protest didn’t last. With an aggrieved sigh, she let him walk her back to the center. “Mission accomplished,” he told Daisy, who met them at the door.

“Thanks,” she said, a hand to her chest. “Sophie, I’ll see you to your room.”

“This isn’t my house.”

In a low, soothing voice Daisy talked to her, pointing out familiar people and Sophie’s favorite reading nook as they passed. Caleb followed them to her room but didn’t go in. Sophie wouldn’t want him there today.

He took a deep breath then turned back toward the reception area—and almost ran right into another wheelchair. He hadn’t heard its approach. The man sitting there gave him a bright, blank smile. Caleb started to sweat.

The guy had a blanket across his lap, which was pretty much where his body ended. He’d lost both legs. Caleb could almost hear the explosion.

“Hey, buddy.” He laid one hand on the guy’s shoulder as much to steady himself as to acknowledge his presence. Behind him, Caleb could see into the room across the hall, the sheets stretched tight on a bed, like in a barracks. A number of family pictures sat on the dresser. One was of the same man in uniform, a few years younger, his smile just as bright but a whole lot more focused.

In a flash, Caleb was back in the war.

He ran.

CHAPTER FOUR

Gunfire blazed. Mortars pounded—incoming!—then crashed all around. Men died where they fell. In the ruins of a hospital he watched Sean Denton’s eyes go blank. Over and over and over…

Caleb didn’t know how he’d gotten back to the casita. He sure didn’t know why he stayed.

At the store, he’d been so tempted to kiss Daisy when he should just get out of her way. Because even though he was half in love with her already, what did he have to offer? Their conversation about his team and Sean must have triggered the memories. That, and seeing the wounded Marine.

Caleb shook all over until his teeth rattled in his messed-up head.

The memories kept coming.

* * *

Daisy didn’t see Caleb for the rest of the day. At five o’clock, after she’d left Sophie watching a re-run of the Mary Tyler Moore show, she’d found him waiting out front in her car. He hadn’t said a word, but he didn’t have to. She’d seen him bolt after talking to Mark, a veteran whose room was across the hall from Sophie.

At home, Daisy got caught up in cooking for Thanksgiving. She wanted to go to the casita to check on him. But maybe she shouldn’t let her foolish attraction go any farther. Or her concern.

Still, once the cranberry relish was done, the sweet potato casserole prepared and the pumpkin pies baked, she couldn’t seem to sit still. The bad signs were piling up.

After crossing the courtyard, she knocked at the casita door.

“Caleb?” she called out.

He didn’t answer. Daisy took a breath then twisted the doorknob. The small living area was dark, but she could see Caleb slumped on the sofa, staring into space. Trembling. This was a serious setback. She’d have to tread lightly.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” she said. “Come to the house. I’ll even let you have a piece of pie tonight.”

“Mincemeat?” His too-soft tone held no humor.

“That’s really your favorite?”

He studied his hands. “My mom used to bake—before she and my dad decided to go off-the-grid in Oregon,” he said. “After that, my uncle and I ate Thanksgiving dinner in some restaurant or hotel.”

Daisy leaned down to catch his gaze. “This year you’ll have Thanksgiving here. A real extravaganza.” He’d finally started to crack, but he still had defenses to get through, which wouldn’t be easy. So Daisy changed tactics. It was time for the hard approach. “The man you saw at the center today has serious injuries to deal with, yes. But he’s trying, Caleb.”

“To do what?”

“Come back,” she murmured.

Caleb blinked. “That what you think I should do? A week ago, I was still over there, trying to stay alive. Sure, that Marine reminded me—”

Daisy’s patience snapped. “You took one look then split. How do you think he felt? You think you’re the first person to pretend he doesn’t even exist? Because it’s just too hard to try? To make contact with your feelings? That breaks my heart, the same way Bryan did when he—”

“Not the same.”

She framed his face in her hands. She had lost Bryan, and she wouldn’t throw away the chance to help Caleb now. “He died in a fire, trying to rescue other people. He sacrificed his life just as your friends did—but is that what you want to remember about Sean and the others? Or would it be better, healthier certainly, to think of the good times you had and the little girl he left behind? That’s life, Caleb.”

He shook his head. “This from the same woman who told me she’d never care about another guy in uniform. How healthy is that?”

“Fine. Go right ahead,” she said. “Sit here and wallow in something you can’t change. I’ve seen it before. That story doesn’t have a happy ending.” She stepped back, heart pounding. She’d tried but failed. “Until you let out all these ugly feelings, whether or not you decide to stay with your team, you’ll never come back. You’ll still be there in uniform.”

She started toward the door. But Caleb’s voice stopped her.

“Sean was just one of the guys we lost, but he was a really great person. He’d do anything for you, anything for the woman he loved.” Caleb hunched over, both arms clasped around his head as if to press the memories back inside. “After the bomb went off in that hospital, what do you think his last words were?”

Daisy turned. “Tell me.”

“He asked a nurse about Laila. He cared more for her than for himself.”

“Oh, Caleb.”

She crossed the room then, gathering him in her arms. And at last he spoke about what he’d seen, what had drilled so deep into his mind, his memory, that he’d gotten lost inside himself.

Daisy talked, too, telling Caleb the words Bryan had said before the fire. We’re grownups now. We should buy a house. Have a baby.

They’d planned so much, had so little time.

“And you promised yourself you’d never take that risk again,” he said.

“To love someone? Too late,” she told him, knowing that was true. “Were you saying that in my own way I haven’t come back, either?”

“Yeah. I guess I am,” he murmured.

He drew her close, or she drew him. She wasn’t sure which. When her lips touched his face, he didn’t try to stop the tears. Neither did she. And when they kissed, it was like a healing gift.

* * *

“Oh my gosh. The time!”

At dawn the panic in Daisy’s voice woke Caleb like a bugle call, his system instantly on high alert.

He checked his watch. “It’s just after six.”

Daisy bolted upright and scrambled to straighten her rumpled shirt. Her hair looked wild, tumbling around her face. They’d spent the night on the sofa, just holding each other. Without her in his arms, Caleb felt cold.

“I have to go. Jared and Kim must be in the house. What will they think?”

“Nothing happened, Daisy.” The notion that she might regret last night set his teeth on edge. She’d wakened him from a dreamless sleep. No nightmares for once.

She shot to her feet then headed for the door.

“The turkey has to go in,” she said. “Come help me.”

Slam. In a flash she was gone.

Caleb fell back against the sofa cushions and tried to focus. He hadn’t had a choice after all. He’d told her everything—she’d pulled it from him—and this morning he felt…oh yeah, at peace.

Fifteen minutes later, showered and shaved, he walked into the kitchen with a new mission in mind.

Daisy glanced over her shoulder. “Thank goodness. Jared’s flight was cancelled last night. Well, that’s not good. But he and Kim won’t be here until later today.”

She rummaged in the refrigerator and emerged with several lemons, an orange and some fresh herbs he couldn’t identify. “Get the turkey out of the fridge, please, so I can rinse it then stuff it with these.” She went to the sink and turned on the faucet.

Caleb soon learned that today—Thanksgiving dinner—was Daisy’s own war. Everything had to be perfectly timed, like a military campaign. And Caleb became her lieutenant.

The turkey had been in the oven for several hours when the front door burst open and Jared walked in with his wife.

“We’re here! Better late than never.”

With a glad cry, Daisy flowed into her brother’s embrace before Caleb could move. He and Jared bonded as if they’d never been apart. Caleb really liked Kim, too, though she had a searching gaze like Sophie’s that made him squirm.

Which gave Caleb another idea.

If Daisy wanted an army, she’d have one.

“Jared and Kim are upstairs unpacking,” he told her. “You’re in command for now. I need to do something.”

“You’re not leaving?”

“With the smells coming from this kitchen? No way.” After giving her a kiss, he turned toward the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

Daisy had the dining room table set when Caleb returned.

“Come see,” he said. “I brought guests.”

Daisy sent him a startled look. “But who—?”

She thought he didn’t know anyone else in the area. That he didn’t care about Thanksgiving. But after last night, he did.

When Daisy walked into the living room, she gasped. Sophie held a place of honor in the recliner. And the soldier Caleb had seen at the center, now wearing his dress blues, grinned. So did Caleb.

“Sophie was easy. She’s having a good day. It was a bit more difficult getting Mark’s chair into my rental car, but he’s really looking forward to your turkey. We talked all the way from the center. They were going to eat alone,” he said. “I figured even with some guests, we’ll be having leftovers for a week.” He sent her a silent message with his eyes. He wasn’t going anywhere, not far at least.

“I make great turkey soup,” Daisy said but her eyes looked damp. “Thank you, Caleb. This means the world to them. And me.” She lowered her voice. “Sophie’s family cares about her but they live far away. A phone call was all she could expect today—and dinner in her room. Mark, too. His family has a hard time coping with his wounds.”

“We’re all wounded,” Caleb said. “But very much alive.”

“We made a lot of progress last night—”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “but I’ll need therapy, too. I’m sure you can recommend someone.”

She smiled and said, “I can. Right after we produce today’s feast.”

He drew her around the corner toward the kitchen. In the hallway, out of sight of Jared and Kim, who were making their guests feel welcome, he pulled Daisy into his arms. Then kissed her. Several times.

“I’ve got another idea,” he said after a long while. But what if he was wrong and she didn’t want him? Or wouldn’t take that risk? Too late, she’d said last night. “How’d you like to come to Virginia? To meet Brig and Molly and Laila.”

Daisy beamed. “I’d like that.”

“Brig’s got a job for me,” he said.

“You’re going to stay with your team?”

“No. But I’ll still be in the military. In uniform,” he warned her.

She didn’t even blink. “I’m happy for you. I’m glad we’re friends again, Caleb.”

He cleared his throat. She’d passed his final test with flying colors. But… “What if I want to be more than friends?”

“What if I do, too?” she said with a cheeky grin.

And Caleb hugged her tight. “I love you, Daisy.”

“I still love you, too.”

Laughter and conversation flowed from the living room. Daisy’s holiday table looked beautiful, and so did she. The aromas of a golden-brown turkey, stuffing and sweet potatoes, along with mincemeat pie, drifted on the air.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he whispered in Daisy’s ear and kissed her again.

“Welcome home,” she said.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story by USA TODAY bestselling author Leigh Riker, you’ll love The Reluctant Rancher. Available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

Thanksgiving Leftovers Casserole by Leigh Riker

So easy and even better than the day before.

Ingredients

Stuffing

Cranberry sauce

Turkey

Gravy

Whipped potatoes

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 400°F.

2. Spray cooking oil in baking pan (or coat bottom with butter/margarine if you prefer).

3. Layer ingredients in the pan in the order in which they appear above.

4. Heat for twenty minutes in oven or until uniformly warm throughout. Serve.

Mr. Right All Along

By Jennifer Snow

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Recipe: Pumpkin and Pear Soup

CHAPTER 1

If Aiden had to hear too much more of this, he was going to lose it. Waving a hand to get Kayla’s attention, he tapped his watch and whispered, “Let’s go.”

Kayla nodded, glancing up from the open Skype connection on her laptop. “Just a sec.” She returned her attention to the screen. “I can’t wait to see you, too….”

He coughed loudly.

“Um, Jeremy, Aiden is waiting patiently…” She shot him a look. “…we’re going to check out the progress on the restaurant tonight.”

Her eagerness made him smile. She’d helped him find the prime location two months before, and after the bank had approved his business loan, his dream of finally owning his own restaurant was taking shape. Quite literally. Kayla had helped him put together the business plan and now with her new Interior Design diploma, she was styling the space.

“Has he seen your design for the dining room yet?” the deep voice on the other side of the computer asked.

Aiden’s smile faded. Jeremy had seen the plans for his restaurant before him?

Kayla looked sheepish as she said, “Not yet. I was planning to show him tonight. I had wanted to surprise him.”

He had a surprise for her, too.

Instinctively, his hand went to his jeans pocket. Relief mixed with anticipation washed over him. The engagement ring was still there. Hopefully soon, she’d be wearing it.

“Okay, yes, I know, I miss you, too,” Kayla was saying from behind the desk of the Brookhollow Inn, where she worked for her brother and sister-in-law.

Aiden reached for her light blue thermal jacket, hanging near the door and tossed it to her before the soft smell of vanilla spice could torture him.

She shot him another look, but at least she stood. “Okay, I really have to go now. Okay…bye. You disconnect first…no you…”

Enough already. Reaching over the desk, he closed the laptop lid.

“Hey!”

“Do you want to see the restaurant or not?”

“Definitely.” She quickly slid into her coat and wrapped a white cashmere scarf around her neck as she set the B & B’s front phone to voicemail for the evening. “Do we have time to stop for food first? I’m starving. Lost track of time Skyping with Jeremy.”

He sighed, setting a bag of take-away onto the desk from the Riverside Grill. “Gotcha covered.”

She reached for the bag. “How are you still single?”

“Too much amazingness for most women to handle, I guess,” he said sarcastically, though he was starting to wonder himself. He’d been stuck in the friend zone with Kayla from the moment they’d met. Except for one brief but very real moment two months before. The night they found the restaurant location. She’d just broken up with Mr. Wrong number 876 and was complaining about men. He’d been about to point out that she probably scared guys off with the intensity of her five year plan from first date to first baby when she’d turned to him and said, “Why are there no men like you? You were ready to commit, settle down and start a family.”

She was right. He had been, but after a broken engagement, he hadn’t thought he’d ever be ready to take that leap of faith with someone again.

“I want someone like you,” she’d said, looking at him in a way he’d never seen before.

In the long, tension-filled silence that followed, he’d realized two things: he could no longer deny the feelings he had for his best friend and five years after the breakup, his heart might be ready to commit to someone again.

But then she’d laughed, breaking the spell and crushing his epiphany and newfound courage. And then she’d gone to New York to complete her last semester of school.

Waiting for her to come back he’d done a lot of thinking. Waiting for the right time to tell her he was in love with her had kept him quiet for too long, but he’d decided that once she finished her course, there was nothing stopping him.

“Ready?” he asked.

She took another bite of the chicken casserole and nodded. “Just let me put this in the fridge,” she said, picking up the container and eating as she disappeared down the hall toward the B & B’s kitchen.

She couldn’t boil hot dogs, but she could certainly eat. One of the many things he loved about her. Kayla had been on the tasting panel at the Riverside Grill as they’d tried out new recipes the week he was hired. The sheer joy she got out of eating reminded him why’d he’d gone into culinary school in the first place and watching her practically lick her plate clean, knowing it was his food making her moan was…attractive.

Of course, at the time she’d been seeing someone, and he’d sworn off women, so he’d moved into the friend’s zone and unfortunately that’s where he’d stayed.

When she came from the kitchen, her eyes were glued to her cell phone screen.

And so the texting starts…

“Oh crap.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You know how Jeremy is coming for Thanksgiving?”

It was all she talked about, so yeah. The tiniest part of him hoped the message was the guy bailing. Hadn’t had the courage to tell her when they’d been talking a minute ago.

Okay, a big part of him hoped that.

“He can’t make it?” He faked a sympathetic look just in case.

“No, he’s bringing his mom.”

His gut twisted. Wow. Meeting the parents… That was a big step.

“Said he tried to tell me before our Skype connection was lost.” She glared at him.

Oops. “Well, you had to meet her sometime, right?”

“Yes, but he’s expecting me—” panic rose in her voice “—to cook Thanksgiving dinner…”

He clenched his teeth, regretting his next words before they even left his mouth. “Just bring them to dinner at the restaurant.” He wouldn’t tamper with Jeremy’s food. Promise.

She shook her head. “I already suggested that when it was just him coming. He said he wanted a nice, intimate dinner—just us.”

Aiden cringed. That wouldn’t be happening if he had anything to do with it. “Well, now that it’s become a family affair, why not take them to your parents’ Thanksgiving dinner.” The words stuck like peanut butter to the roof of his mouth. He needed to get her to the new restaurant and propose already. This was killing him.

“He’s not ready to meet my family yet.”

Yet the guy was coming to her family’s home during the biggest family holiday of the year—how could he expect to avoid meeting them? Plus he expected her to meet his mom? “Sounds like a keeper,” he muttered.

She didn’t hear him. “Besides, his family is Italian and food is like the big test.”

“Relax. It’s just dinner.”

“No it isn’t. This is the test to see if the new girlfriend will fit in…make a good wife.”

“Wife?”

Exasperation flickered in her expression. “Don’t get crazy. We’re far from that, but this is still a big deal. I’m so screwed,” she said, texting, then deleting…texting and deleting.

He took the phone away from her. “Stop. I’m sure you’ll figure this out. Cooking is not that hard.”

Her eyes lit up and immediately he knew where her thoughts were heading. “Cooking isn’t hard for you.” She grabbed his hands in her small soft ones, making his heart pick up speed.. “Teach me,” she said.

His mouth dropped. “In two days? Kayla, I have three hundred people I need to prepare a menu for and execute that evening…” But more than anything, he refused to keep helping her with these crazy ideas to impress the flavor of the month. It got him nowhere.

She clutched his hands desperately. “Please, Aiden. Just some basic dishes. A turkey, I can probably handle. I mean you just stuff it full of…”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Stuffing,” she said, “and put it in the oven. I just need help with some traditional Italian side dishes.”

He sighed. She was giving him that please-bail-me-out-one-last-time look he could never resist. Not that there was a look from her he could resist.

“Fine. I’ll help you with a couple of dishes.” He hoped after he confessed his own feelings for her that evening, it wouldn’t be necessary anyway.

“And dessert?” she asked sheepishly.

“You really are a pain in the backside.”

“That’s why you love me,” she said, taking her phone back with a smile.

CHAPTER 2

“Hurry up and open the door,” she said, shivering in the late November air. Snow hadn’t made an appearance in this part of New Jersey yet, but based on the layer of frost on the ground that evening, it was close. The trees had long ago lost their leaves and the crunchy, multi-color blanketing beneath their feet was one of the things she loved most about fall. While she’d enjoyed the last month in the city, she was glad to be home. She was a small-town girl and she hoped she could generate enough work in the area to avoid moving away from home. This restaurant remodel was a great first project to start building her portfolio.

Aiden opened the door and moved aside to let her in, hitting the main light switch.

The place illuminated in a soft, welcoming glow.

“They did all of this in two months?” Formerly a hair salon, they’d gutted and completely rebuilt the space, adding a new kitchen and two dining areas separated by a rock wall fireplace. The transformation was incredible.

“Your brother and his company do good work fast,” he said, flicking on the fireplace.

Dawson’s Architecture, her brother Luke’s company would be her major source of referrals as well. She hoped.

“I’m so happy for you. You must be getting excited seeing it all come together,” she said, shrugging out of her coat and setting her designs on the wooden bar, in the section of the restaurant that would serve as the lounge.

“I’m happy for us. You’ve been as much a part of this as I have.” He touched her hand on the bar.

His warmth against her cool skin sent tingles down her spine. Her best friend was gorgeous and though they’d never talked about a relationship, she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him. She wouldn’t be a hot-blooded female if she wasn’t. Behind his back, the other women in town called him the Curtis Stone of Brookhollow and she couldn’t argue that her best friend did share a lot of features with the celebrity chef…except Aiden’s eyes were darker blue, his hair a lighter shade of golden blond and the dimple in his cheek more….

She’d missed him.

Which was natural. He was her best friend.

“Want to see the designs?” she asked, opening her portfolio.

“I would have liked to have seen them before Jeremy,” he mumbled.

She scoffed. “Whatever. You weren’t there and I was excited to show someone.” Wasn’t that their story in a nutshell? He was never available, having made it clear when they’d met that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for a life-long commitment again.

“Fine. Let’s see,” he said, removing his jacket and draping it over the bar.

He was wearing the sweater she’d given him for his birthday the month before: a dark charcoal crew neck that hugged his muscular chest and arms better than it should. She also noticed that he was still wearing the watch she’d given him the Christmas before. “Why are you still wearing that? I told you to return it and get something more your style.”

“I like this one,” he said, as he twisted it back in place on his wrist.

“Liar.”

“Okay. I like that it was a gift from you.”

And there it was—the rare, earth-shattering look he gave her sometimes. One she refused to try to understand. That look had the power to destroy their friendship. And just as he’d rightly told her years ago, she didn’t want to lose her best friend by falling in love with him.

“So, for this section…” she started, but feeling his hand on hers once more, she stopped.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” he asked, moving closer.

She could feel his warm breath on her neck as she nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Something happened that night, didn’t it?”

Oh, yes. No. She didn’t know anymore. The night two months ago when they’d connected in their mutual excitement over Aiden’s plans. A tornado of emotions had spiraled around them. She’d experienced a jolt to the heart she’d never felt before and for one moment, what she wanted had been clear.

Except she couldn’t ever lose him. Her best friend.

* * *

She stared at the interior design plans as she said, “I thought so…”

“Well, why don’t we make it more clear this time?” he asked, placing a solitaire engagement ring on the plans in front of her.

Her mouth dropped. Was he for real? They’d never discussed feelings. They’d never even kissed… He’d just agreed to help her make a meal for another man.

It had to be a joke. “Kayla.”

His voice next to her made her jump and she swung around to face him. “You’re kidding right?” She forced a laugh. “Teasing me about my constant chatter about marriage and commitment.” Wasn’t he the one who claimed he couldn’t trust anyone again? “Right?”

He remained silent. His expression unreadable.

“I mean, we’re best friends. We don’t love each other.” She looked around, tugging on her scarf. Was it really hot in here all of a sudden? “I mean if we were in love, we’d know…right?”

Why did he just stand there looking at her like that? Say something!

He looked hesitant for the briefest of moments. Picking up the ring, he tucked it into his pocket. “Yeah. I guess we would.”

CHAPTER 3

Aiden slapped her hand as she reached for another handful of dried cranberries. “Number one rule of cooking-stop eating the ingredients.”

“I’m starving…” she mumbled through a mouthful. Starving and exhausted. Sleep had eluded her the night before as she’d tossed and turned, trying to understand what had happened in the restaurant.

So far that morning, neither of them had broached the subject and it seemed as though he’d forgotten all about it.

She wished she could forget that easily. But all night, the biggest thought plaguing her was whether or not she would have said yes.

“Kayla!”

“What?” Lost in thought, she’d missed something.

“I said get down off the counter. You wouldn’t sit on your design board would you?”

“Never.” She jumped down and forced herself to put the night before out of her mind. She had to get this meal right. She wanted to make a good impression the first time she met Angela Marcus. Jeremy adored his mother and raved about her cooking all the time. Dating an Italian, she should have known she’d be forced to demonstrate her domestic skills sooner or later.

She’d been hoping for later…to have more time to acquire some.

“Okay, what are you making first?” she asked.

“We. What are we making.”

“That’s what I said.”

“First, you need an apron,” he said, grabbing one from the stack of supplies he’d brought to the B & B that morning. He unfolded it and draped it over her neck.

Normally, the gesture would have passed almost unnoticed, but when their gazes met and held a fraction too long, he moved away abruptly, leaving her to tie it.

Thank God. If his arms had gone around her…

As she tied, she read the words upside down. “The only reason I have a…kitchen is because it came…with the house.” She raised an eyebrow. “Where’s your confidence in me?”

Aiden grinned. “You’ll have to earn it. Okay, let’s start with the turkey stuffing so we can get the bird into the oven.”

She nodded, relieved that things seemed to be back to normal between them. “Makes sense.”

“Here are the mushrooms. Start chopping, while I get the sausage from the fridge.”

“Mushrooms and sausage?” In stuffing?

“Yes. We’re making a traditional Italian stuffing.”

“But I don’t eat red meat…and I hate mushrooms.” The stuffing her mother made was simple and delicious: bread crumbs, celery, onion and apple. Sausage and mushrooms inside a turkey wasn’t something she could easily get on board with. “Why can’t we just make a plain stuffing like the one you make at the restaurant?” There would also be less ingredients to remember, she thought scanning the various spices he’d lined up.

“You want to impress the mother, right?”

She sighed. She’d been dating Jeremy for less than a month and the idea of meeting his mom so soon was a little odd, but he’d told her how finding someone who fit in with his family and friends was important to him. They’d met her first night on campus. He was a film student working on his first short and their shared passion for art—though in different fields—had formed a quick bond between them. He loved seeing her new design concepts and she enjoyed watching him at work. Living in the small-town, it had been difficult to find someone as interested in art as she was and she wanted to see where this new connection could lead. At twenty-five, she was looking to find something real, something that might last.

“I just won’t eat the stuffing,” she said.

He took a box of risotto from the bag and handed it to her. “We should get this boiling as well.”

“For the stuffing?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” After opening almost every drawer in the kitchen, she located a pot, added water, salt and butter as the package said and set it to boil. “What’s next?”

Turkey in the oven half an hour later, she scanned the list of side dish recipes. “Sweet and sour roasted beets and onions? Roasted Pumpkin and Pear Soup?” Whatever happened to mashed potatoes and green beans?

“I purposely chose colorful fall-themed dishes. It’s all about the presentation, right?”

That was one concept she understood. “I guess I hadn’t really thought of cooking as an art-form before.” She leaned over his shoulder as he added chicken broth to a pot and took the baked pears and pumpkin pieces out of the oven and added those as well. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, she was really going to impress her guests.

Though she was more impressed with Aiden. She’d seen him work before, hanging out in the kitchen at the Riverside Grill, but there he had sous-chefs and a set menu, pre-made items to make the job run smoothly and a tight, often frantic, schedule to deliver meals on time. Here, he was relaxed, at home in the foreign kitchen, his hand landing on things as if he instinctively knew how the B & B kitchen should be set up. Thankfully the kitchen was so well stocked he hadn’t yet needed to use any of the extra pots or pans he’d brought along. Which was good, as she’d need them to make all of this herself. She bit her lip. She hoped she was getting all this. “It’s a lot of work.”

“Don’t worry. None of it’s hard. Just time consuming,” he reassured. “I’ll leave all of the recipes for you and the ingredients.”

“Couldn’t you just come make it all again?” she asked, only half-teasing.

“No. In fact, you should be doing more of this. Come here,” he said, grabbing a cutting board and several onions. He reached for a knife from the cutting block and handed it to her. “We need finely chopped.”

“Okay,” she said, peeling the first onion and starting to cut.

“Too big. Here like this.” He stood behind her and covered her hands with his.

Her knees weakened as he guided the knife in a quick slicing motion, followed by a fast, rhythmic chopping. His chest was against her back and the smell of his cologne—yet another gift from her—clouded her mind.

Learning to cook for your new boyfriend, remember, she thought fighting the crazy urge to lean against him and just savor the feel of his chest and arms while he did all the work. She had no idea what was happening to her right now.

This was just Aiden.

* * *

What had he been thinking by helping her chop those onions? His arms had gone around her and his hands had covered her tiny, soft, perfect ones as though his body had switched to auto-pilot. But the feel of her resting against him, allowing him to guide her in a skillful show of culinary technique, had nearly driven him insane. There was a reason why he limited their physical contact and tried to hold his breath whenever she got too close. Kayla Dawson was dangerous. Last night was the perfect example. He’d laid everything on the line and she’d thought it was a joke. She held his heart firmly in her clenched hands and she didn’t even know it.

Okay, so maybe the proposal had come out of nowhere, but he’d set the scene, bringing her back to the restaurant where he knew they’d both felt something for each other. Okay, maybe he should have dropped to one knee and made it perfectly clear he was serious, but he was still cautious. Her thinking it was joke had given him an out. Too bad, there wasn’t a way out of these feelings.

Right now she was staring at him in puzzlement. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked what a food processor was,” she said with a sheepish grin.

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Right. Over there—the thing that looks like an oversized blender.”

He watched as she added the onions. She has a boyfriend. Keep your hands and feelings to yourself or you will get destroyed. Last night should serve as a warning.

As if to reinforce the point, her phone chimed with a text message on the counter in front of him. He glanced at the picture of Jeremy on the display and couldn’t help but wonder what it was that Kayla saw in him…or any of her previous boyfriends.

Watching as she reached for it, he saw her skim the words and go as white as the apron.

“Everything okay?”

“He’s bringing the entire freaking family,” she said in pure disbelief.

Was now the time to maybe point out that this guy might be coming on too strong, too fast?

This was none of his business. He’d had his moment and he’d blown it. “No worries. We’ll just double the recipe,” he said, then hearing the pot of soup bubbling, he grabbed a spoon and stirred, the smell of pears and pumpkin filling the kitchen. The meal, at least, was a success. “Soup looks great,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder to look at her.

She didn’t seem to be listening, as she stared at the phone in her hand.

Maybe he didn’t need to say anything. Maybe she’d come to her senses on her own.

* * *

His grandmother, two aunts, three uncles and two cousins. Was he freaking serious? She struggled to breath with an overwhelming sense of doom closing in around her. She liked Jeremy and she’d been looking forward to spending the holiday with him—see where things went—slowly. Meeting his mother so soon had thrown her a curveball she hadn’t been prepared for yet…but she’d rolled with it. This whole family thing was just crazy. Especially if none of them wanted to meet her family in their own town at Thanksgiving, a time when families gathered to give thanks! She had a whole lot to make up for at Christmas, she decided.

She set the phone aside, unsure how to respond. Aiden’s casual response hadn’t exactly been what she’d been hoping for… Though what she had wanted from him, she wasn’t sure.

She picked up the knife she’d abandoned and started chopping more onions. This was just sudden that’s all. Didn’t mean it was a bad thing…

Aiden came toward her, one hand under a spoon. The smell of warm pears and spices she couldn’t name made her mouth water and all other thoughts evaporated on the steam escaping the mixture.

“Taste,” he said, holding the spoon to her lips.

She blew gently then tasted. “Mmmmm.” Closing her eyes, she savored the fresh fruity combination of the pears mixed with a hint of cinnamon. “I am a good cook,” she said with a smile, licking the spoon again. Maybe she could pull this off.

She opened her eyes and the look on Aiden’s face made her smile and all coherent thought disappear. The intensity in his dark blue eyes dialed the heat up in the kitchen to broil.

He moved closer and tugged on the front of her apron, drawing her toward him. The intent was clear, but what the hell was he thinking? They were best friends, she was seeing someone, he’d never once in their five years of friendship said one single word about wanting to kiss her, but then he’d kinda, maybe, sorta proposed? This was ridiculous.

Ridiculously tempting…she wanted to kiss him, too.

His head lowered toward hers and his eyes were silently asking…

She stood on tiptoe to close the gap between their lips and closed her eyes in anticipation.

An unexpected yelp a second later made her reach for the counter for support. Her eyes flew open. What the…?

“My foot,” he said, also gripping the edge of the counter.

She frowned as she glanced toward the floor. A stupid foot cramp had interrupted… “Oh no!” The knife she’d been using to cut the onions, the one she’d forgotten she was holding was standing straight up, sticking out of his shoe. She felt woozy. “I think I’m going to faint.”

“You’re going to faint? I’m the one with a knife in my foot,” he said, slowly lowering to his knee. He reached for the handle.

“Stop!”

He glanced up. “What?”

“Are you sure you should pull it out?” Oh no…the room spun around her at the mere thought that blood might make an appearance.

“You have a better idea?”

She swallowed hard. “I can’t look.” Turning away, she covered her ears. Why, she couldn’t even begin to guess, she just thought blocking all receptors might help to make the ground feel a little more steady beneath her feet.

A long second later, he touched her shoulder. “I need to get to the clinic.”

She uncovered her ears. “What about the turkey?”

“Seriously?”

“Sorry. Yes, let’s get you to the clinic.” She moved closer and took his arm to wrap it around her, but remembering the look in his eyes moments before as he was about to kiss her made her pause. “You can manage on your own? You don’t need me, right?”

His gaze locked on hers and her breath lodged in her chest. “That depends,” he said. “Are we still talking about my foot?”

CHAPTER 4

“So that was…odd…right?” Kayla asked as they sat in the examination room at the Brookhollow medical clinic twenty minutes later.

His foot throbbed and he was terrified about what they would see once they removed his shoe, but not as terrified as he was of this painful conversation about to happen. He knew he should agree with her that it had been odd, make some sarcastic joke or claim he’d been messing with her—again—and then they could go back to being best friends and he could return to the slow, torturous death caused by unrequited love.

But maybe it was adrenaline caused by the pain in his foot or maybe it was the way she’d lifted her lips ever so slightly toward his that gave him stupid confidence. “I would say it was overdue.”

She looked confused. “What are you saying—that you’ve had the idea to kiss me before?”

“Only every other thought since we met, yeah.” There. Truth was out. There was no stopping the train wreck that was sure to follow, but he no longer cared. Staying quiet about his feelings all these years had gotten him nowhere. Correction. It had landed him the role of her tutor in preparation for a meal with a different man—one who didn’t deserve her, one who hardly knew her and one who couldn’t possibly love her as much as he did.

Across from him, she sat staring, disbelief on her pretty face. “So…that proposal…?”

He nodded. “Was real, yes.”

“But I…”

He nodded. “Had no idea how I felt, I know. But I’m tired of sitting by and watching you with the wrong guys.” Climbing down from the table, he moved to sit next to her, his foot momentarily forgotten. “Look, I know that keeping this to myself was a stupid idea…proposing the way I did last night an even worse idea, but I lo…”

Her phone chimed with a new text message and he stopped. Of course. The most current Mr. Wrong had impeccable timing.

She hesitated but looked relieved by the interruption as she reached into her coat pocket for the phone, just as Dr. McCarthy and Lindsay Harper, the nurse, came in. “Hello,” Lindsay said brightly.

“Hi,” they both mumbled.

“So, what brings you both in today?” the doctor asked.

“She dropped a knife on my foot,” he said.

“Only because you tried to kiss me,” Kayla protested.

His cheeks flamed.

“Remind me to never try to kiss you,” Dr. McCarthy said, approaching the examination table. “Okay, let’s get the shoe off and see what we’re working with.”

He ignored the doctor and turned to face Kayla. “You know, before you dropped the knife, you weren’t exactly fighting me off.” He hadn’t imagined the way she’d leaned toward him, ready to accept his kiss.

“Should we come back?” Lindsay asked.

“I was in shock,” Kayla said, standing. “The last thing I expected was my best friend to try to kiss me when he knows I’m seeing someone.”

“Yeah, someone who’s making you be something you’re not to impress his family,” he countered, getting to his feet. When would she realize that the best man for her was standing right there in front of her? Had always been standing right there.

“We’ll come back,” Dr. McCarthy said.

“No, don’t, I’m leaving anyway,” Kayla said, moving past him toward the door. “Sorry about your foot,” she muttered, not sounding the least bit sorry.

“Be sorry about my heart!” he called after her as she disappeared.

* * *

Slamming the door of the Brookhollow Inn later that evening, after she’d walked all around town trying to make sense of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Kayla shot an apologetic look to the group of women sitting near the fireplace in the living room. “Sorry,” she mumbled as the Wednesday night book club (really just an excuse to drink wine club from what she’d observed) all glanced up from the books she suspected no one had read in advance.

“Everything okay?” her sister-in-law asked, as she refilled several glasses with red wine. Victoria waited for her to answer.

“Yes…no… Men can be so stupid sometimes,” she said whipping her scarf off and hanging it on a hook near the door.

“Oooh, this is so much more interesting.” Leigh Norris, the woman who owned the daycare next to the B & B closed her book and moved over on the couch to make room for her.

“Are we talking about Jeremy? The guy coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow? I thought things were going well between you two,” Victoria said, filling a glass with white wine and handing it to her.

“It’s not about Jeremy.” In truth, he’d barely crossed her mind all day…except for the incessant text messages asking her what time dinner was the next day…and whether there was anything with nuts in it because his cousin James was allergic… After the third time his assigned ring-tone had chimed in her pocket, she’d stopped reading them.

The texts were stressing her out, but the insane temptation to return to the clinic and resume what she’d started in the kitchen with Aiden was the real aggressor to her emotions.

“Then who are we mad at?” Bailey Sheppard, the town’s mechanic, asked in female solidarity.

Seeing Lindsay come out of the bathroom, she shot her a puzzled look. “You’re here, yet they don’t know what I’m upset about?” Lindsay’s track record for gossip was second to none.

“I’m turning over a new leaf,” she said with a shrug, then laughed. “Actually, I just arrived, I totally would have told them about what happened at the clinic…”

“Told us what?” Leigh asked, growing impatient.

Kayla sighed. “Apparently, Aiden has feelings for me.” She thought it best to keep the proposal part to herself.

“And?” Victoria said.

Everyone seemed to share her sister-in-law’s reaction. Not a surprised expression among them. “And nothing. Except that he’s never told me and today he decides to just kiss me.”

“It’s about time,” Leigh said.

“What?”

They all seriously had no issue with this?

Lindsay shook her head. “You honestly didn’t know he has been in love with you forever?”

“Hey, give her a break. Ethan didn’t know I was in love with him for so long, either,” Bailey said, coming to her defence.

“Thanks, Bailey.” She sipped her wine. It helped to calm her nerves.

“Sure. I mean, some people are just clueless until it hits them between the eyes,” Bailey continued.

She sighed. “How was I supposed to know?”

“The fact that he rarely dates any of the women falling at his perfect feet would be one clue,” Victoria said.

“Yeah, one of those feet isn’t as perfect anymore. He needed three stitches,” Lindsay told her.

Kayla buried her face in her hands. “Oh no!”

Victoria looked back and forth between them. “What happened?”

“When he tried to kiss her, she stabbed him,” Lindsay said.

“Not quite how it happened,” she said, taking her wine and standing. She’d get no answers from the blissfully wedded club. They liked drama and chaos and unlikely happily ever afters while they themselves were walking examples of the fairy tale romance. She needed peace and quiet. Let her own thoughts torment her. “Thanks, ladies. But I think I’ll call it a night.”

“If you need us, we’ll be right here,” Leigh called after her.

“And remember, it’s not real love unless it’s left you confused…” Victoria said.

“Tearful…” Leigh chimed in.

“Or broken-hearted…” Bailey added.

Fantastic.

CHAPTER 5

As if preparing a four-course Thanksgiving meal for three hundred people wasn’t challenge enough, he had to do it with a busted foot.

At least the busy day ahead would help keep his mind off Kayla and the fact that in a few hours the woman he was in love with would be preparing a Thanksgiving dinner he’d taught her to cook for another man. Without family of his own, holidays had never been easy, but at least he’d had Kayla.

The timer beeped.

Grabbing a set of oven mitts, he opened the oven doors and pulled out the four large pans of pumpkin seeds, setting them on the cooling racks.

He should never have said anything about his feelings for her. And he definitely shouldn’t have proposed or given in to the urge to kiss her. Nothing would be the same between them now.

Then again, he wasn’t sure what was worse: not having her in his life or being best friends with a woman he couldn’t have the way he wanted.

Maybe it was time to move on.

* * *

Why was the smoke detector going off this time?

Kayla placed the tray of overcooked—okay burned—pears and pumpkin pieces on the counter and scanned the kitchen for what was burning. The pot of broth on the stove was boiling over onto the burner.

Rushing over to it, she removed the pot and cleaned up the mess, fanning the smoke detector with a dishtowel. “Just something on the burner,” she called, her desperation rising as the noise subsided. In the dining room, there was a crazy, loud, more than a little overwhelming Italian family waiting for a delicious meal…and each one of them had offered to help when she’d excused herself to go “check” on dinner. She didn’t hide frantic well and she suspected they knew she was in way over her head. But keeping everyone out of the kitchen was probably for the best, seeing as how it appeared a bomb had exploded in here.

The swinging kitchen door opened and rushing to it, she forced a smile as she blocked Elizabeth Marcus’s access. “All under control.”

“Smoke detector must be very sensitive.” Jeremy’s grandmother tried to lean around her to peer into the kitchen, but luckily, she blocked most of the view. She shrugged. “Guess it would have to be seeing as how this is a B & B.”

Right. Exactly. “I’m sure it won’t go off much more…” Here’s hoping. “Please, go relax. Enjoy the break from cooking.” She pushed her farther out of the kitchen.

“Okay…if you need help…”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to find you if I do.”

She sighed as the door swung shut. Not even the family matriarch could save this disastrous meal.

Having gotten zero sleep the night before, as she’d tossed and turned thinking about Aiden and feeling guilty for doing so, she’d slept through her alarm. The turkey had gone into the oven two hours late. She’d cranked the temperature a hundred degrees higher, hoping that would compensate, but when she glanced through the oven doors, she saw that the skin looked really dark…

Why had she thought that after one quick lesson from Aiden, she’d be able to do this? One dish at a time, sure. But coordinating prep and cooking time for a million dishes whose recipes kept getting mixed in her mind: impossible.

How did Aiden do this so easily?

The doorbell rang and her nerves switched into high gear. More freaking guests? Oh, this wasn’t good at all, she thought scanning the mess of the kitchen. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the reflective oven door, she realized, the state of the kitchen was the least of her worries.

The buzzer rang again and running a hand through her hair she headed for the door. This wasn’t the way Thanksgiving was supposed to be. And it certainly wasn’t how meeting a man’s family for the first time should feel.

A longing for her familiar tradition made her mood sink even lower. Even if dinner was a success (it wasn’t), even if she was eager to get to know Jeremy’s family (she wasn’t), this didn’t feel right. She should have insisted on his participating in their family’s dinner. It suddenly annoyed her that he hadn’t wanted to, yet he was bringing his own clan.

Why hadn’t she just been honest with him and said she didn’t cook? Soon enough, he’d know the truth when she served him charcoal on the outside, raw in the middle turkey and overcooked squash.

She couldn’t go through with this.

Especially when all she could think about was what would have happened if that knife hadn’t slipped out of her fingers the day before.

Reaching the front door without having to pass through the living room—thankfully—she forced another deep breath before opening it. “George, what are you doing here?” she asked, seeing the Riverside Gill’s assistant manager standing on the doorstep and not more members of the Italian family.

“Delivery for you,” he said, handing her an oversized takeout bag filled with plastic containers.

Her mouth gaped as she took it.

“There’s more. Should I bring it in?” he asked with a knowing smile as the smell of burned-everything-reached them even this distance from the kitchen.

She nodded. “Yes, please.” In a daze of Thanksgiving-miracle relief, she carried the food into the kitchen and thanked George when he set the large container with the turkey on the counter.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said with a wave.

Happy? Not entirely, but salvageable at least…thanks to Aiden. “Yeah, you too,” she managed to say before reaching for the note attached to the first bag.

Not that I don’t have confidence in you…

She sighed as she folded the note and tucked it in her pocket. Aiden had saved her dinner. Helped her save face with Jeremy’s family. The gesture was classic Aiden, just one of the many things she loved…

She paused, realizing.

She loved him. Every little thing about him. All night she’d tossed and turned wondering if what she was feeling for her best friend was real or just a result of the stress she was under and their close, flirty proximity the day before in the kitchen…

But there was no denying it. She loved her best friend. Loved how he looked at her. Loved how he made her feel. Loved the comfortable yet electric connection they shared.

And he loved her, too.

She paced the kitchen, biting her bottom lip. What did she do now?

* * *

Three hundred guests finally served their main course, Aiden helped the kitchen crew put the finishing touches on the desserts for that evening: a pumpkin and pecan pie sampler with vanilla ice cream and hot caramel sauce and a chocolate zucchini cake with pecans clusters on top. He swirled the caramel into his signature A on the last plate and then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. Dinner was a success.

As was the one across town, he suspected. George had told him the food he’d sent Kayla appeared to have arrived just in time. She’d confirmed it by texting him a picture of the black, charred turkey with the caption Mmm-mm delicious.

Pulling it out of his pocket again, he looked at it for the millionth time.

They’d be all right. But only if he let go of the crazy idea of the two of them together and move on.

“Okay, let’s start bringing these out,” he said, tucking the phone away again and positioning the desserts onto the serving trays.

“You didn’t tell me I was supposed to get fancy with the caramel sauce.”

Kayla’s voice behind him made him stop. He turned around slowly. She stood in the kitchen, a shy, nervous smile on her pretty face.

“Well, it is all about the presentation,” he said, removing his gloves and tossing them into the garbage bin behind her. “Don’t you have guests you’re supposed to be feeding somewhere?”

“They are eating,” she said, taking a step toward him. “But I needed to see you.”

“Look, Kayla, I…”

“I love you,” she said, interrupting in the best possible way.

He smiled. “Say that again.”

“I love you,” she whispered, moving closer.

In one step, he gathered her into his arms. “Why the change of heart?” he asked, brushing the hair away from her flushed cheeks.

“No change, just finally realized.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in closer to him. “I’m sorry it took it me so long, but it’s your fault.”

At that moment he’d take the blame for anything…everything…as long as she stayed right here in his arms. “How’s that?”

“You were always too good a friend to risk telling me how you really felt. Sending that food tonight was the perfect example,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“The food was my way of reminding you that with me you’d never have to cook again,” he said. “Not exactly altruistic motivation behind that.” He pulled her closer.

She laughed. “Well, it worked.” She tugged on the front of his chef’s jacket to bring him even closer.

“Just something else to be thankful for,” he said, lowering his lips to hers. He stopped just a fraction of an inch away.

She frowned. “Why did you stop?”

“Just making sure you weren’t holding anything sharp,” he said before kissing his best friend, the way he’d waited far too long to do.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, be sure to check out the books in Jennifer Snow’s A BROOKHOLLOW STORY miniseries!

THE TROUBLE WITH MISTLETOE

WHAT A GIRL WANTS

FALLING FOR LEIGH

THE MISTLETOE MELODY

FIGHTING FOR KEEPS

LOVE, LIES & MISTLETOE

Available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

Pumpkin and Pear Soup by Jennifer Snow

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 ripe pears, cubed

4 pounds cooking pumpkin, peeled and cubed

1 yellow onion, chopped

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon pepper

5 cups of chicken broth

Croutons

Directions

1. Add olive oil to medium pot, heat, then add pear cubes, pumpkin cubes, onion, salt and pepper until vegetables are slightly tender—about 5 minutes.

2. Add broth and bring to a boil. Simmer until pear and pumpkin are even more tender—five more minutes.

3. Place everything into a blender and puree soup. Refrigerate overnight.

4. To serve, reheat on medium heat and add more salt and pepper. Add croutons on top.

Falling for the Cowboy

By Sophia Sasson

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Recipe: Bourbon Pecan Pie

CHAPTER ONE

They were staring at her like she was an alien walking off a spaceship. Elena swallowed, her throat dry. Dylan tightened his grip on her hand. The diner door slammed shut behind them, its bells jangling.

Elena smoothed her fabulous wool dress, the one she wore over her fabulous new boots. The woman at the store had assured her the outfit was the latest in country chic, but in this sea of jeans and plaid shirts, she looked like she had two heads. A familiar pressure squeezed her chest.

“I know she’s the most beautiful girl in the world, but c’mon now, folks.” Dylan’s strong, confident voice broke the silence.

It was like he’d pressed play on a paused movie. A murmur went through the crowd and the diner came alive. People sitting on bar stools turned back to the counter, utensils resumed clinking and clacking. Elena spotted the sign for the restroom in the back corner and began heading toward it. They had barely taken two steps when one of the people seated at a table slapped Dylan on the arm.

“M’boy, who is this exotic creature?”

Elena froze. Here we go. Her fingernails dug into Dylan’s hand.

“I’m Elena Striotikos, Dylan’s girlfriend.” She congratulated herself on managing the cool tone she used in corporate boardrooms. She regularly stared down powerful CEOs; she could handle the people of Bellhaven.

The man’s eyes widened. Dylan shifted on his feet. It would be much better if she could say she was Dylan’s fiancée, but he hadn’t proposed. Yet. They’d been dating for two years, but this was the first time she’d come to his home to meet his family. It wasn’t her first time in a small town, though. She prepared herself to go through the torture of explaining her background, of being the “exotic” one. Again.

“Mr. Leeland, Elena is from Greece, same continent as your Polish grandmother.”

Dylan put an arm around Elena and pulled her close. She let herself lean against him, let his warmth fortify her.

The man smiled sheepishly. “Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. She’s a mighty pretty lady.” He turned to Elena and smiled, showing off gleaming capped teeth. He held out his hand. “Dick Leeland. What’s a nice girl like you doing with this rascal?”

Elena forced herself to breathe and shook his hand. “I’ve been wondering the same thing, Mr. Leeland.”

His grin broadened and he slapped his thigh. “I like this one. You bringin’ her to the turkey hunt tomorrow?”

Did the man just say “turkey hunt?” They hadn’t talked much about this trip; Dylan had been extra busy at work, and she was so focused on getting a promotion that they’d hardly seen each other the past few weeks. All he’d said was that he wanted to talk to her about their future.

Dylan nodded. “See ya then. Gotta get home to Momma—we were just makin’ a pit stop.”

Now it was her turn to stare at him like he was from outer space. Since when did Dylan speak with a Southern accent?

They continued through the diner, but a grandmotherly woman with perfectly coiffed gray hair stopped them before they reached the restroom. “Oh now, this must be the young lady your Momma said you were bringing home.”

Elena pasted on her meet-and-greet smile, ruing the moment she’d asked to stop in to freshen up. She stuck out her hand but the woman swung an arm out and squeezed Elena in a hug. Is she going to pinch my cheeks next? “She’s prettier than the last one you brought home.”

What!

She looked at Dylan, who shook his head. “She’s kiddin’. She knows very well you’re the first girl I’ve brought home since I moved to Chicago. That’s what all this fuss is about.”

Hmmm.

“Well, his Momma tells me you’re Greek. We could use some culture around here. I just love that balaclava you guys make.”

“Baklava, Rose. It’s baklava, and—”

Elena stepped out of Rose’s embrace and put a hand on Dylan’s arm. He knew how sensitive she was about being labeled, but she didn’t need him defending her with every person they met. She knew how to do this; she’d spent her entire childhood answering questions like these. At least until she’d moved to cosmopolitan Chicago. She didn’t look different there. Her pitch black hair didn’t stand out; neither did her dark eyes or golden skin.

“You know, some of the big stores sell really good baklava these days.” Elena replied smoothly. Baklava wasn’t even fully Greek.

She was just a few steps from the bathroom, so she snuck down the hall just as another hand grabbed Dylan’s arm. Thankfully, it was a single room, so she locked the door and placed her hands on the sink, sucking in some deep breaths. She refreshed her lip gloss then stood back; she looked as put together as she could. She placed a hand on her stomach, wishing her nerves would calm down.

Until last week, she hadn’t been obsessing about when Dylan would propose. They had a happy life in Chicago. They lived across the hall from each other in the ultra-modern John Hancock building, and they were both busy climbing the career ladder and saving up to buy a penthouse condo. If her promotion came through, they’d be well on their way. There was no rush. The conversation with her mother two weeks ago had changed all that.

“Mitéra, thirty-four does not make me unmarriageable.”

“Elena, it’s not just your age. Your father’s health is not improving—he doesn’t have many good days left. He wants to walk his only daughter down the aisle. It’s an important tradition, to have his blessing. If you love Dylan, why wait? Get married soon, while your father is still alive.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. This was supposed to be a happy weekend. Daddy had been in good spirits when she talked to him yesterday, and that’s what was important. Her mother had a way of getting under Elena’s skin. Tradition! It was highly overrated. Elena had spent her entire childhood trying to feed the ache in her mother’s heart for a traditional Greek upbringing—in America. She had the worst of all worlds: the American children turned their noses at the fragrant ethnic foods her mother sent for lunch; the Greek children in town snubbed her for not knowing the latest American celebrity drama. It wasn’t until she found her first job in Chicago that she settled into a place she finally fit.

She loved her job and her life. She loved Dylan. And she knew he felt the same way about her. She opened the bathroom door and squared her shoulders. All she had to do was get through the next two days, and they could start the next phase in their lives.

CHAPTER TWO

Dylan accelerated as they got closer to the farmhouse; he couldn’t wait to see his mother.

“So how many girls have you introduced to your mom?”

“Momma met all my school girlfriends,” he answered easily.

“And how many was that exactly?”

“Oh, come on now, I was a bit of a catch. I had my share of girls.”

He heard her take a sharp breath and reached out to squeeze her hand. “It’s not like any of them were serious, and I haven’t brought anyone home in five years.” He sensed it wasn’t the answer she was looking for, so he changed the subject.

“You know, my dad was the love of Momma’s life. After he died, she held it together for me and Jolene.” He had been a taciturn fourteen-year-old and Jolene a rebellious sixteen when their dad died. Anyplace else, his family would have fallen apart. “This town took care of us. They helped Momma, and made sure we were okay. They didn’t show their best side back at the diner, but this town, it takes care of its own.” His voice caught and Elena squeezed his knee. He knew Mr. Leeland and Rose didn’t mean anything by their comments, but Elena was sensitive about standing out. She’d told him her insecurity stemmed from the awful way she’d been treated as a kid. He hoped this trip to Bellhaven showed her just how special the town was. A nerve twitched in his heart; what if Elena didn’t want to go along with his plans?

He slowed as they turned into the gravel driveway that would take them the last mile up to the house. The sight of his home warmed his soul. The scent of drying leaves filled the fresh air; it was such a refreshing change from the exhaust fumes of Chicago.

The yellow siding and green shutters of the two-story house rose up to greet them. The front door opened as soon as he stopped, and his mother waved at them from the front porch. He parked and ran up the front porch steps, giving his mother a hug and picking her up off the ground. She was no slouch at five foot eleven, but she felt slight in his arms. At her protest, he set her down and looked into her bright blue eyes. Her face looked wearier than he remembered. Jolene said she’d been taking pain medication for her arthritis every day now.

“It’s so good to see you.” She slapped him hard on his arm. “You haven’t been home since last Christmas.”

He hung his head. “I know, but I’ll explain later, okay?” He turned. “Momma, this is Elena.”

Elena had been waiting on the bottom step. She gave his mother a bright smile, one of the genuine ones, not the business smile she’d been sporting at the diner. She climbed the stairs.

As she reached the top step, her foot caught on the loose brick he had instinctively stepped over. He reached out as she stumbled, but he caught her a second too late. She grabbed the container housing his mother’s roses and sent it crashing down the stairs.

His mother placed both hands on her mouth. “My roses!”

He helped Elena regain her footing. “You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded and turned to his mother. “I’m so sorry.”

His mother was staring at the shattered clay pot and the roses lying on the walkway in a clump of soil.

“Those were the roses I was going to enter in the Winter Fair. I’ve been cultivating these hybrids for four years now.”

“I’ll repot the flowers, Momma. They’ll be fine.”

She was staring at the flowers as if someone had just died.

Elena looked stricken. “I can help—what do you need? A new pot? I’ll go out and get it.” Her voice was high and panicky. He rubbed her arm to let her know it was okay. His mother could be a little nutty about her contest entries.

She stepped down and began examining the remains of her flowers. She clicked her tongue. “The roots have broken. I’m not sure these can recover.”

“I can get you new ones,” Elena tried. “My mom knows this great store in New York, I can ask her to ship—” Dylan put his hand on the small of her back and pressed a finger to her lips. He felt a tremor go through her and he pulled her close. Her tension eased just a notch.

“Momma!” he said more sharply than he intended. “We’ll deal with the flowers later. Come, get to know Elena.”

His mother stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “You may not want to wear those heels `round here,” she said with the maternal admonishment Dylan knew so well.

Elena’s body went rigid in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hayes. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

His mother walked up the stairs and patted Elena’s shoulder. “Not much to be done now. You must be hungry. Why don’t you come inside.”

“Where’s Jolene?” His sister should’ve been out here, with all the commotion they’d caused.

“You were so late coming, she decided to go home.”

Their quick pit stop at the diner had turned into an hour with all the townspeople wanting to meet Elena, but it was good not having Jolene around. He could talk to his mother about his plans before he broke the news to Elena.

“She’ll be back in the morning. She and Jake are havin’ some troubles, so she wanted to get home tonight.”

Dylan turned to Elena. “Jolene moved into a cottage on Jake’s ranch. Momma doesn’t approve.”

His mother gave him a hard look. “Those two are fools. They aren’t right for each other—too different—and the sooner they realize it, the less heartbreak for both of ‘em.”

Elena was now stiffer than a board, and the plastic smile was back on her face. This was not going the way he’d planned.

“Why don’t you take Elena to your room? You can sleep in the hayloft.”

Dylan nodded and began hauling their luggage out of the trunk. “Hope she has some real clothes in that big bag,” his mother muttered as he passed her on the way inside.

“Momma!” A quick glance at Elena told him she’d heard his mother’s not-so-quiet whisper.

Dylan led Elena up the creaky wooden steps and noticed her holding tightly to the banister, and taking every step with exceeding care. He led her to his room and opened the door.

Her gasp told him he might have miscalculated the success of this holiday trip.

CHAPTER THREE

Dylan’s childhood room was like a set from an old Western film. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, posters of rodeo stars hung on the walls, trophies of all sorts teetered on shelves. She walked over and read the engraved lettering on a few of them: Best Junior Calf Roper, Best Exhibitor—4H natural lamb, First Place—barrel races.

Her heart was pounding so hard, she expected it to pop out of her chest. Dylan opened the closet door. “I’ll take out some clothes so you have room to hang your stuff.” She stared. Plaid shirts hung in a neat row. The only clothes in his Chicago closet were suits. She’d bought him a pair of weekend jeans, and casual shirts.

He’d grabbed a cowboy hat off a rack, placed it on his head, and gave her a broad smile, looking a lot like the star of a country western film.

“Dylan?” He didn’t have a twin brother. Not that she knew of. Maybe aliens had abducted him, and sent him back as a long lost character from the Wild West.

He grinned. “You like the old me?”

“The old you?”

“Yeah, this is me, you know, when I’m not a lawyer.”

“So what are you when you’re not a cowboy?”

He laughed and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. She molded against him and he dropped his head, touching his forehead to hers. She savored the warmth of his breath and drew strength from it. She placed her hand on his chest and felt the strong thump of his heart beneath his shirt, the beat that matched her own. She could get through anything with him by her side.

“When I’m not a cowboy, I’m your dutiful slave.”

She lifted her head and he dropped a light kiss on her mouth. It was the briefest touch, but it sent a delicious tingle down to her toes. Two years of being with this man, and he could still make her feel like it was the first time they’d kissed. “I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I know Momma will love you.”

That was the plan.

“I don’t think she will.” Her stomach churned. His mother hated her, she could tell. She had a lifetime of experience with people who instantly disliked her. They didn’t usually get over it.

“Don’t mind her—she’s gotten a little cranky lately, but she’ll warm up once she gets to know you.”

Elena tried to smile, but her lips quivered. Dylan pulled her closer. He was the one person she couldn’t fake it with. He placed a hand on the back of her head. “It’ll be okay, darlin’.”

Since when does he call me darlin’?

“Just be yourself. Don’t put on an act—she’ll love you for who you are.”

She stiffened. “I’m not putting on an act—this is me.” She didn’t mean for her voice to be testy.

His mother called them for dinner and Dylan took her hand as they went downstairs. Dylan filled the table with bright conversation. She watched him savor the homemade pot roast and apple pie his mother served. They had a happy life in Chicago, but she’d never seen him this animated over inane chatter, or seen his expression dissolve into pure pleasure as he ate. Their usual dinner conversation was about world events, or the latest happenings in the Chicago business world. She didn’t know any of the people he was talking about now.

“So I’ll need to teach you how to shoot tomorrow before we go to the turkey hunt.”

“The turkey hunt,” she repeated, knowing she sounded stupid.

“It’s a blast, you’ll see,” he said reassuringly.

Visions of wearing camo and handling a gun, shuddered through her brain. This was going to end badly.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Well, come on over here, darlin’.” Before Elena knew what was happening, Jolene Hayes had encased her in a hug. Not knowing what to do, Elena let Jolene envelope her, trying not to sneeze when the other woman’s hair tickled her nose.

Dylan’s sister was a classic, blue-eyed American beauty with flowing locks worthy of a shampoo commercial. Elena tried not to think about her own black hair, unruly and totally unstyleable. She had put it up in a ponytail. It was much warmer in Bellhaven than in Chicago, and her hair was rebelling against the mild humidity.

“Okay, let her breathe.” Dylan untangled her from Jolene and put his arm around her possessively.

“Look at my baby brother being all protective of his girl.”

“That’s my job—to shield her from vultures.”

Elena gently brushed away his arm. “I can take care of myself, thank you.” He was taking the cowboy routine a bit far. He had shown up today in one of those plaid shirts from his closet, jeans and cowboy boots. He’d actually tipped his cowboy hat when she came down the stairs.

Jolene leaned forward and whispered loudly, “There’s still hope for you. Escape from this madness while you still have the chance.”

Dylan swatted his sister playfully.

“I’m not kiddin’.” Jolene’s smile disappeared, and suddenly the air grew thick. Elena felt Dylan’s grip on her tighten. “Momma will eat us alive if we don’t get a turkey on the hunt.”

“Jolene!” Dylan said warningly.

Elena smiled nervously. Maybe she could get Jolene on her side. “Well, I’m used to intense community events. I grew up in Syracuse, where there’s a huge Greek community. Every year there’s this grape stomping festival to make authentic Greek wine and whoever produces the most juice is crowned queen for the year. My feet are still purple from all the years my mom stood there screaming, ‘stomp Elena! Stomp, stomp, stomp!’” She said the last part in her mother’s throaty Greek accent, trying to be funny, but the words came out all shrieky.

Jolene stared at her and Dylan cleared his throat. “Well, hopefully it won’t be that bad,” he said softly.

Elena swallowed.

“All righty now,” Mrs. Hayes’s stern voice rang out. “Let’s get goin’.”

They went outside and Mrs. Hayes stopped on the top step. Elena followed her gaze to the roses. Dylan had re-potted them last night. Elena didn’t know a lot about flowers, but even she could tell they were wilted. Her heart sank to her toes.

Mrs. Hayes shook her head, “I was finally gonna beat Rose with those roses.” She picked up a watering can and sprinkled water over the soil, then reverently picked up the container and set it on the bottom step.

They’re just flowers! Elena wanted to scream, but she bit her tongue. This was why she loved Chicago; people didn’t sweat the small stuff.

Jolene handed her a bow and a couple of arrows. Seriously? The bow was more than half her height. “This is my starter bow from high school—it’ll be easier for you to handle.”

Everyone else’s bows looked like they’d come from a medieval battlefield.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dylan took Elena to a clear patch of land in front of the porch while Jolene and his mother loaded the truck. He stepped up behind her. “First, feet shoulder width apart.” He put his hands on her hips and positioned her sideways. Her back was to his chest. He took her left hand and put it on the bow. Her skin felt soft against his, her hand delicate.

He kissed the top of her head. “You know, I’m thinkin’ maybe I should take the whole day and teach you how to shoot.”

She smiled up at him. “I like that idea. I don’t actually want to shoot a turkey.”

“It’s not that hard—you’ll get the hang of it.” He took her right hand and showed her how to position the arrow and then use three fingers to pull the string back and let the arrow go. She fit perfectly against his body, like she’d been made just for him. A knife twisted in his gut. What if I’m making a mistake?

He went to retrieve the arrow. “Now, try by yourself.” He looked around to make sure there were no animals nearby, then moved behind her.

Her hands were trembling.

“Just get used to releasing the arrow. Don’t worry about where it goes,” he said soothingly. She took a breath.

“Time to go,” his mother yelled just as Elena released the arrow, inadvertently turning towards her voice. They both watched in horror as the arrow sailed through the air before dropping precipitously.

Elena screamed as the arrow fell right on top of the not-so-prizeworthy roses. The pot rocked on the step as they ran toward it. It tipped over, crashing against the brick walkway.

He ran to inspect the damage.

Elena came up beside him. “Oh no, your mom will hate me forever.”

He turned to make sure his mother hadn’t witnessed the latest attack on her flowers. “Listen, I’ll tell her it was me. Now let’s get going before we miss the hunt.”

“Here, take this bow—I’m dangerous with it.”

“Oh no, darlin’, that’s your ticket into the hunt. If you aren’t shooting, you don’t get to come with me.”

She gave him the Elena look that said, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s an important town tradition, and it’ll be fun, try it out, just for me?” He gave her his best smile, the one he knew she couldn’t resist.

She smiled. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Mister.”

He dragged her to the car, ignoring her ramblings about ordering roses online and surreptitiously replacing the ruined ones. I need to tell Momma to lay off Elena. He didn’t need his mother making an already difficult conversation worse.

CHAPTER SIX

“Looks like we’re the last ones here.” Mrs. Hayes made her way to a far field where a crowd was gathered. Elena hurried behind, struggling to wade through the mud. She didn’t dare glance at her formerly fabulous boots. They had to be sacrificed: the mud precluded her wearing sneakers, and she hadn’t brought that much stuff in her “big” bag.

Mr. Leeland was speaking into a bull horn. “Okay folks, I got thirteen toms and a half-dozen hens. There’s thirty-two families here, so some of you are gonna have to go get one of them frozen things from old Cregg’s store.”

“Hey, I heard that,” someone shouted good-naturedly.

“Alright, everyone—ATVs are ready.”

The what? Dylan grabbed her hand and led her to a two-seater vehicle with four oversized tires. She eyed it dubiously.

“Is that thing safe?” She took the helmet he handed her.

“Don’t worry—I’m an ATV racing champion.”

Of course you are.

He hung their bows on a rack and secured them, then straddled the seat. She sat behind him. The hearty breakfast of country ham, eggs, grits and toast was flipping in her stomach. Her usual breakfast was a cup of coffee, but she’d eaten politely, even choked down the second helping Mrs. Hayes piled on her plate.

“You best hold me tight.” Dylan grinned. His boyish cuteness and obvious excitement warmed her heart. She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth and wrapped her arms around him. Despite the horrors of her childhood, there were a few things about her hometown that brought that kind of smile to her face, like her mother’s pastitcio. She wanted Dylan to have his hometown fun.

He revved the engine. She tightened her hold on him then felt the splatter of mud on her jeans and arms. The breeze whipped at her face. Elena smacked him hard on the shoulder.

“Stop the ATV!”

They lurched to a standstill. Elena was off the seat in a flash.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asked. She put a hand on a tree to steady herself.

“You know I’m not good at these things. You could’ve prepared me.” Her mouth was burning.

“Darlin’.” He put a hand on her shoulder and she brushed it away.

“I’m going to be sick.” She bent over and threw up. He rubbed her back, but it wasn’t helping. He offered her the canteen he had wrapped around his neck, and she washed her mouth then took several swigs.

“You wouldn’t have a breath mint, would you?”

He shook his head. “Are you gonna be okay? We still have a few more hours left in the hunt.”

A few more hours!

They were well into the woods, and he was scanning the trees, his eyes shining with excitement. He turned back to her and his face softened. “You don’t look so good, let’s go back, we don’t have to do this.”

Yes! Let’s go back and spend the day curled up in front of that nice stone fireplace in the living room. You can pull out the ring I hope you have in your luggage, then I can video chat with my father and watch his face light up when I tell him he’ll get to see my wedding.

She shook her head. If cowboy Dylan wanted to get this out of his system, she wanted to show him she could be a part of his life in every way. “I’ll be fine. Can we walk from here?”

He nodded, looking uncertain.

“It’s okay, Dylan, I’ve endured much worse.” If she could stand for hours in pinching high heels on a parade float and watch her classmates laugh at her, she could walk through a muddy forest searching for a turkey.

“Okay, if you’re sure. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

Her heart soared. Maybe this whole crazy event was about a memorable proposal. Men were silly like that.

“Isn’t it amazing how everyone comes together as a community?”

Something in his voice made her stomach twist. She hoped she wasn’t going to be sick again. “Community events are highly overrated.”

“Oh, just give it a chance. This isn’t the same as what you went through.”

“Not exactly the same, but a different version. Besides, I thought you hated Bellhaven.”

He shrugged, picking his way through some thick brush. He parted it so she’d have an easier time getting through it. Her arm caught on a thorn and she tugged, creating a small tear in her blouse. Another casualty of this trip.

“I’ve never hated it, I just needed to get out of here when I was younger. But perspective changes as you get older.”

She stopped. What did he mean by that? How had his perspective changed? He turned and put a finger to his lips. She took a step forward and her bow caught in some low-hanging tree branches. She tried to right her footing while extracting the bow, but lost her balance instead, falling straight into a mud pit. Thankfully she didn’t land face-down; her knees broke the fall. Dylan held out his hand and she took it, disgusted with how dirty her own hand was. She saw a bird cackling, making a kee kee sound as it ran away from him on stick legs.

“Darn it, I could’ve broken the town record for fastest catch.”

And I could have broken a body part.

She retrieved her fallen bow and used a leaf to clean the mud on her hands, succeeding only in smearing it around. Her skin itched and she didn’t know if it was from bug bites or the wet, gritty earth that covered her. She missed the clean concrete of Chicago.

“So what’re we doing after this?” She hoped it involved a hot bath and quiet time with Dylan.

“There’s the post-hunt barbecue at the Leeland farm. The whole town will be there—you’ll get to meet everyone.”

Looking like this? She stifled the sigh bubbling in her chest. “Can we stop at a store so I can get myself in order?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it darlin’. We’ll hose off.”

Hose off? He made sure not a single hair on his head was out of place when he went to work. He wanted to show up to a town event looking like this? Where was her Chicago Dylan, and how long did this cowboy plan to stick around? The knot in her stomach twisted painfully. Was this the Dylan she wanted to marry?

Before she could pick her jaw off the muddy ground, he went deeper into the forest and she followed with a sense of resignation.

They spotted a few other townspeople in the distance. “There was a time when this forest was so thick, we wouldn’t see anyone else for the whole hunt,” Dylan said wistfully. “With all the development around here, not much is left. Mr. Leeland’s been fighting the county on allowing a developer to take ten percent of this forest. I told him I’d stop by and look at his papers. He doesn’t have money to hire a lawyer.”

“It’s nice of you to offer to help.”

“That’s what being a part of a community is all ‘bout.”

She opened her mouth to ask him where he was going with all this when her mother’s voice filled her head. “Men are different around their mothers. Remember your daddy when your grandmother came over?” As much as she hated to admit it, her mother was right. Her powerful, intimidating father cowered when his mother showed up. Once Dylan was back home in Chicago, he’d be back to his old self. He’d be back to the Dylan she knew. Or so she hoped.

“Stay here,” Dylan said suddenly. “I have to take care of business.”

“What business?”

He smiled, showing off his broad, perfect grin. The one she’d first fallen victim to two years ago when they were sitting across from each other in a conference room, negotiating a merger. They had worked together nearly every day for three months. At the end of the deal, she’d expected him to ask her out. He didn’t. He shook her hand and wished her luck.

She’d stalked him on Facebook and found out he didn’t have a steady girlfriend. She knew from the way he’d looked at her that he was interested, so what was it? Four months later, she ran into him again. This time he was moving into the apartment across from her. That day, she asked him out, unwilling to take the chance that they’d become friends and never get out of that zone. They went out to dinner and he insisted on paying. They celebrated that date every year as their anniversary. Hopefully they’d have a more formal anniversary to celebrate soon.

“I need to go,” he said with the impish cuteness of a toddler.

She looked around. “You don’t mean…”

“When nature calls, nature provides.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to give him some privacy. Chicago Dylan didn’t even like using public restrooms. She bit her lip. What if this was the real Dylan? What if the one she knew in Chicago wasn’t his true self? No, it couldn’t be. She’d spent two years with him, surely she knew him by now. She ignored the tiny prod of her subconscious reminding her of all the new things she’d discovered since their arrival in Bellhaven.

Then she saw it. A turkey. It let out a high-pitched call. She put her bow on the ground and crouched down. “Here, little turkey,” she said softly. “Come to me.” She scanned her surroundings. What did turkeys eat? She grabbed some clover and held it out. The turkey eyed her outstretched hand and stepped elegantly forward, her mouth moving underneath a sharp beak. Elena kept still. She remembered chasing chickens when she was a little girl. She’d hold out corn and they’d come eat out of her hands.

The turkey bent its head and nipped the clover, her beak jabbing Elena’s palm. Elena petted her prickly soft feathers. The hen clucked loudly. Elena wrapped her arm around her body and picked her up like a small dog. The turkey let out a squeal but stayed put.

“You are unbelievable.”

Elena turned to see Dylan standing with his bow pointing at them, the arrow loaded.

“Oh, don’t shoot her, she’s a good girl,” Elena said in a singsong voice. She didn’t want to spook the bird.

He grinned and shook his head, securing the arrow and shouldering the bow. He took out his phone and texted Jolene. They walked back, Elena petting the turkey to keep it calm. Dylan carried both their bows. “I had no idea you knew how to catch turkeys.”

She smiled. “Turns out it’s not that different from catching chickens.”

“Where in Chicago were you catching chickens?”

“In Syracuse, when I was a little girl. Friends of the family owned a farm.” All of a sudden, the vision of that farm, with its whitewashed walls, cornfields, and tractor rides filled her mind. The farm used to belong to her best friend, the only Greek kid who was kind to her. It was one of the few fond memories from her childhood.

He smiled at her. “What do you know, you remember life before Chicago.”

It wasn’t a matter of remembering or not. She recalled bits and pieces of Athens—her family moved to the States when she was six—but she had vivid memories of Syracuse. A small community full of children who taunted her. She just preferred not to think about that time.

Chicago was home. She was good at her job, had friends who valued her, and the only things that made her stand out were her accomplishments.

“There’s a lot about me you’ve yet to learn,” she said coyly. He stopped and turned towards her.

“Yeah, our lives are so busy in Chicago, we haven’t really had quality time together.” His voice was strangely quiet. Her nerves twitched. What did he mean they didn’t have quality time? They had dinner together nearly every night. Granted, it was usually takeout because they both worked long hours, but they talked. They spent weekends together. What was he trying to say? He knew exactly who she was. If anything, she was the one being confronted with a brand new ATV-racing, turkey-hunting, cowboy-boot-wearing Dylan.

She stepped up to him and stared into his honey-colored eyes. He was still her Dylan, right? He placed his forehead on hers, a familiar gesture that eased her tense muscles. How did he do this to her? How did his one touch make her feel like she could deal with the troubles of the world?

The turkey wiggled in her arms and broke the spell.

“We better get that turkey to the butcher table before we lose it.”

“You’re going to kill Claudia?”

“You named it? Tell me you’re kidding. You do know the entire point of the hunt is to get a turkey for the Thanksgiving meal, right?”

She petted Claudia. “I do. Besides, our building doesn’t allow pets.”

Suddenly, they heard familiar voices.

“You can’t break his heart like that.”

“Momma!”

Elena stopped. It was Mrs. Hayes and Jolene. She didn’t want to intrude, but Dylan walked right over to them. “You’re breaking up with Jake?” His voice was full of disbelief.

Whoa, drama. Jake was Jolene’s long-time boyfriend and recent fiancé.

Jolene nodded. “I can’t take it anymore. He never wants to leave Hell’s Bells. I’m sick of this town—I need to get out.”

Hell’s Bells was a nickname for Bellhaven. Elena knew there was a story behind that, but Dylan hadn’t gotten around to telling her.

“This town is home.” Dylan stared down his sister.

Elena was out of clover, and Claudia wasn’t that into her anymore. She clucked impatiently and everyone turned her way.

“That’s just a hen. Couldn’t you catch a tom? And why didn’t you shoot it?” Mrs. Hayes’s impatient voice was the last straw for Claudia. With a loud screech, the turkey flapped her wings. Elena caught a feather in her eye and the bird shook out of her grasp.

“Shoot her!” Mrs. Hayes screamed.

“No!” Elena said involuntarily.

Dylan pivoted between his mother and Elena and fumbled with the bow. The brief hesitation gave Claudia the chance she needed to run away.

“Ugh!” Dylan’s mom slapped her hips and glared at Elena as if it was all her fault.

Elena dug her fingernails into her palms. She couldn’t hold back anymore. “It’s just a stupid bird. Why can’t you just get a frozen one like normal people?” Everyone was silent, gawking at her.

“Momma, she’s right,” Jolene said wearily.

Mrs. Hayes’s expression said it all. Even Elena didn’t need translation.

Jolene and Dylan exchanged a look.

“C’mon, Momma. Shouldn’t we go home and talk about Jolene’s situation?”

Elena widened her eyes at Dylan. Why was he interfering in Jolene’s private life? He himself had told her he hated the way the townspeople inserted themselves into everybody’s business. Maybe she really didn’t know Cowboy Dylan.

“There’s no situation to discuss,” came the annoyed response from Jolene.

“Yes there is, Jo! How can you leave now?”

Jolene stepped up to her brother. “Just `cause you’ve decided to be the good son and move back home doesn’t mean you get to guilt me into stayin’.”

Elena’s heart stopped. Dylan flinched and glanced at her quickly before glowering at his sister. “Be quiet, Jo,” he said through clenched teeth.

Jolene made a frustrated sound and followed her mother, who had stalked off into the forest. Dylan held out his hand to Elena, but she shook her head.

She tried to breathe, but her chest was too tight. “That’s why you wanted to talk?” She sputtered. “That’s what this trip is all about?” She turned and ran.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dylan swore under his breath and ran after her. This was not how he planned to ask Elena to move to Bellhaven with him. He caught up to her and put a hand on her arm.

“Elena, please let me explain.”

She whirled, her eyes blazing.

“When were you going to tell me?”

He took a breath and pulled her close, wanting her to feel the connection he felt every time they touched. She was stiff in his arms. “I wanted you to see the town, get to know people first.”

“And what did you think would happen? I’d fall in love with the town and agree to move here with you?” Her voice was choked and it stung his heart. He knew how hard her life in Syracuse had been, the ridicule of the other children, the difficulty assimilating. That’s why he wanted her to see how Bellhaven would embrace her.

“Chicago is my home, Dylan.”

“Hell’s Bells is my home.”

She untangled herself and stepped away from him. He went cold.

“I’ve worked for years to get to this point in my career. That promotion could be mine. How could you not consider how this would impact my life?”

She was now more than an arm’s length away. He wanted to touch her but the closer he stepped, the more distance she put between them.

“Why haven’t you talked to me about this?” Her voice was raw and throaty, her eyes shining.

“It’s complicated, Elena. Can’t you understand—”

“No I can’t, Dylan. We share everything. We’ve talked the future, about buying a penthouse together…in Chicago. I’ve been killing myself trying to get your family—and this ridiculous town—to like me. I’ve been doing it all for you. I was expecting a proposal this weekend, not some half-baked plan to move here. Where is this coming from?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I have been thinking about our future, and when I thought about us starting a family, I realized I don’t want to raise our kids in a place where you have to put them on a leash just to take them to the park. Where dinner is always takeout, and I’m selling my soul with every new assignment. I wanna be here for my mom, I wanna run the family farm, do stuff for the community. I…” He stepped forward and took her hand. “We can have a different life here.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me before? I don’t even know who you are anymore. My life is in Chicago. I thought our life was in Chicago. It’s the only place I’ve ever belonged.” Maybe springing this on her had been a bad idea. He knew it would be a tough sell, which was why he waited until he could bring her here and let her experience the town.

“I belong here, Elena. This is my home, and I’m ready to come back. Besides, I don’t have a life in Chicago anymore. I quit my job.”

She opened her mouth then shut it. “I don’t know what to say. You didn’t even talk to me about it. How could you?”

“Don’t you see? I’m doing this for us. I want us to have a different life.”

“And what about what I want? I thought the man I loved would have cared about that.” She opened her mouth to say more then covered it with her hand. Tears fell down her cheeks.

A vise gripped his heart. Nothing was turning out like he planned. He reached for her, he needed to let her know that they would work it out somehow but she wouldn’t come to him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“At least have a glass of moonshine before you go.”

Elena stared at Mrs. Hayes. The woman was looking at her with such sympathetic eyes that she nodded reluctantly. Mrs. Hayes was still mad they hadn’t caught a turkey, but her fury was now directed at Dylan and Jolene.

Elena took stock of her clothes. What did it matter, anyway, if the town saw her all muddy and disheveled? She was never coming back here.

As advertised, there was a water hose near the tent that people were using to wash their hands and faces. Dylan gave her his rain slicker to wear over her torn blouse. It fit like a tent on her, but at least she was decent. She joined the crowd and let the cold water soothe her itchy skin. Her mother would be mortified if she saw her now, without any makeup, twigs sticking out of her hair. In her community, every young girl was judged for her appearance. It had been exhausting getting ready for events there, making sure every stray hair was plucked, her face beautifully painted, her dress perfect.

Dylan took her hand and she closed her eyes, savoring his warmth.

“I’m sorry, Elena” he whispered in her ear.

Tears welled behind her closed lids and she squeezed them tighter. How could he keep such a big part of himself from her? All their plans, their dreams…. He’d decided by himself that they didn’t matter. He was going to be Cowboy Dylan for the rest of his life. She didn’t know Cowboy Dylan, and she couldn’t drop her entire life for a man she hardly knew.

“Look what I found at the mega mart!” Elena turned to see Rose standing with a plate of baklava. She smiled and took one of the offered pieces. Rose returned her smile and Elena couldn’t help giving her a hug.

Mrs. Hayes stood behind a table pouring her signature moonshine into red plastic cups. “You’ve got to try the apple pie,” she told Elena.

Elena took the offered cup. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she needed fortification. The stuff burned her throat but left her tongue with a pleasant taste of apples. “It’s pretty good.”

Mrs. Hayes laughed. “Now see, any girl who can drink moonshine is okay by me. You just gotta learn not to shoot my roses.”

Elena’s eyes widened.

“Yep, nothing gets by me. And I’m never gonna forgive you for it.” The twinkle in her eyes made Elena laugh.

Dylan got caught up talking to someone, so she slipped to the corner of the tent and pulled out her phone to see if she could get on an earlier flight back to Chicago. She didn’t have a good signal so she moved away from the tent back toward the woods.

Could it be?

She followed the sound to a spot behind a tree. “Claudia, what’re you doing here?” She pulled some clover out of the ground and held it out. Claudia dutifully clucked and stepped closer. Elena picked her up.

“Let her go.”

She looked up to see Dylan standing behind her.

“She’ll be better off in the woods, else she’ll end up on our kitchen table.”

Elena smiled and set Claudia down. Dylan wrapped his arms around her and Elena sank against him as they watched Claudia walk away, her head held high.

Tears streamed down Elena’s face. This would be the last time he’d hold her like this. They watched the sky turn from bright orange to deep shades of purple and gold.

“Don’t go.” Dylan’s warm breath was on her ear, giving her that familiar feeling of intoxicating bliss. She pressed her teeth into her tongue to remind her of the pain he was causing her. He couldn’t be one man in Chicago and another in Hell’s Bells. She hadn’t fallen in love with a cowboy.

He let her go suddenly. She turned.

Her gaze dropped. He was on his knees holding a red velvet box. The kind of box she’d been dreaming about for months.

“Elena Arianna Striotikos…”

She stared at the ring. It was a gold band with an etched ribbon and cross. She’d know that ring anywhere. “That’s my grandmother’s ring,” she blurted.

He smiled. “I went to ask your father’s permission to ask you to marry me, and he told me to give you this ring.”

Her heart stopped. She took the box from him.

He rose, a big smile on his face. She shut the box and shook her head. “I can’t do this, Dylan. I love you, and I want this more than anything. But—”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she put a finger on his lips. “We obviously want different things out of life.”

“Elena, please, we can figure it out.”

“I’ll return the ring to my father.”

CHAPTER NINE

Three weeks had gone by since Elena returned from Hell’s Bells, without Dylan. He texted her every day the first week, then every other day. She hadn’t heard from him in a week now. She stared at his apartment door every morning when she left for work, half expecting him to appear in his cowboy hat and boots. In the evening, she waited for the knock on her door that never came.

She crossed the lobby in a fog.

“Miss, there’s a delivery for you.”

Elena turned to the front desk attendant, who held out a beautiful bouquet of roses in a crystal glass vase. Her heart soared. They had to be from Dylan. She took the flowers and walked to the elevators with a bounce in her step, inhaling the beautiful fragrance. As soon as she entered her apartment, she set the flowers on the table and plucked out the card on top.

She opened the ivory envelope. The words swam before her eyes. They were from the partners at her firm, congratulating her on the promotion she’d just received.

She screamed, picked up the vase, and threw the flowers into the trash. The vase caught on the lip of the garbage can and smashed into a thousand pieces. Elena sank to the floor, pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed. A searing pain ripped through her body and she hugged herself even tighter.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her. Was she hallucinating? These arms felt like Dylan’s; they even smelled like his soap. The burning in her chest eased.

“Hush now, darlin’.”

She lifted her head. “Dylan?”

“You left the door open, and I heard a crash.”

“You’re back?” Her voice was a whisper, as if saying the words out loud might somehow make them untrue.

He cupped her face in her hands. “Elena, my life is where you are. I don’t want a family if it isn’t with you.”

“But…”

“I’ll find another job.”

“What about not wanting this life anymore?”

“It took me losing you to realize that the only thing I want…is you. I’m sorry, I should’ve talked to you about it. I just thought you’d love Hell’s Bells and it’d be easier to convince you.”

Elena smiled. “I’m not ready to move to a town you call Hell’s Bells, but it might not be bad for the kids to know wide open spaces.”

“We’ll make it work—together,” he said.

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet box. Inside was a beautiful gold ring with a single diamond. “This is my grandmother’s ring. I think it goes well with yours. What do you say we marry them?”

She smiled. “Yes, darlin’!”

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story by Sophia Sasson, don’t miss First Comes Marriage and The Senator’s Daughter, available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere. And watch for Sophia’s new Harlequin Heartwarming book, Mending the Doctor’s Heart, coming in January 2017!

Bourbon Pecan Pie by Sophia Sasson

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cook Time: 55 to 60 minutes

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

6 tablespoons butter, softened

1 cup dark brown sugar

3 eggs, slightly beaten

1 teaspoon vanilla

¾ cup dark corn syrup

1 tablespoon cornstarch or arrowroot powder

2 tablespoons bourbon

3 cups pecans

1 9-inch unbaked or frozen deep-dish piecrust

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

2. Cream together butter and brown sugar in a bowl. Add eggs, vanilla, corn syrup, cornstarch and bourbon. Blend well.

3. Place in a stovetop pan on medium heat. Allow to simmer for 2 to 3 minutes until the mixture has thickened. Remove from heat and let cool.

4. Place 1½ cups pecans in bottom of piecrust. Pour pie mixture over the pecans, then top with remaining pecans.

5. Bake for 45 to 60 minutes or until center appears barely set. Cool to room temperature on wire rack.

The Marriage Gift

By Tara Taylor Quinn

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Recipe: Thanksgiving Turkey Dressing

CHAPTER ONE

The tablecloth was too big. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Shrugging, prosecuting attorney Corrine Armstrong pulled the offensive piece of material off the small-but-nice wooden dinette she’d purchased two months ago but had yet to host a meal on. She used to host a lot of meals. All the time. She used to have a large, impressive dining room table, too.

To go with her large, impressive dining room.

She could still have it all. She’d been the one who’d chosen to move. To leave the house and most of the furnishings to Joe.

Just as she’d been the one to insist she host Thanksgiving. The table had four chairs, and there were four of them.

Joe had always said—as had she—that there’d always be the four of them. Her and Janie and Dawson and Joe. They could add to the group. If Janie remarried. Or Joe or she did. But they’d still all be friends. Celebrate holidays together.

Who were they kidding? If she got remarried, if Joe did, even if Janie did, they’d all have new families with whom they’d want to spend the holidays.

Which meant this could very well be her last Thanksgiving with Joe. That’s why she was feeling a bit peevish this morning.

That and the darn tablecloth. It was the beige linen one with hand stitched turkeys and pumpkins on it. The one her grandmother had given her and Joe when they’d gotten married. In the eight years since, they’d never had Thanksgiving dinner without it.

But this year was different. Filled with firsts and fresh starts. Many of them prompted by her.

Most of them making her happier than she’d been in a while.

Folding the tablecloth, she put it back in the bottom drawer of the spare bedroom dresser. Her dresser she’d had as a kid.

Some things stayed the same. Most didn’t. The trick was to focus on the joy.

And that was just what she was going to do.

* * *

Joe knocked. And when Cor didn’t answer, he let himself in with the key she’d given him the day she’d rented the three bedroom condo with a balcony that looked over the mountains and a private back courtyard with a pool and hot tub.

He was her next of kin, she’d told him. And that had been that. No hesitation in her voice. No discussion.

No mention of the fact that they were in the middle of divorcing.

Typical Corrine.

Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t the most emotionally expressive guy; that was for sure. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel. He just saw no point in spraying the room, or his life, with drama. Life stayed much cleaner his way.

And hers, too, maybe, he conceded as he looked around. “Cor?” he called. The table wasn’t set yet.

There were no smells of dinner cooking, either, but that was to be expected. Janie would be cooking the stuffed bird at her place. And when she and Dawson arrived, he and the little guy would watch one of the movies they’d seen a million times while Janie directed Cor’s cooking of the rest of the meal.

Other than the movies with Dawson, Janie’s four-year-old son, spending Thanksgiving together was a tradition they’d shared since their senior year of college. Back when Janie, Cor’s best friend from high school, had been married to Dillon.

The four of them had been compatible beyond anything Joe had ever known. He and Dillon had had a lot in common back then. First and foremost, their desire to make it to the top tier in white collar society. And a close second had been their lack of interest in ever having children.

They’d differed in that Joe had expressed to Corinne his aversion to parenthood on their second date. Dillon hadn’t told Janie he didn’t want kids until after they were married. Lucky for Joe, Corinne had grown up the oldest in a family of nine and had no more interest than he did in becoming a parent. Janie had never given up hope that Dillon would change his mind. Until Dawson came along, accompanied by a pre-natal diagnosis of Down Syndrome, and Dillon served her with divorce papers.

“Cor?” Down the hall, he found her in the guest bedroom, sitting on the bed, staring into space.

“You okay?” he asked, instant concern springing up within him. Concern he just as quickly tempered, so the question came out sounding more polite than anything else.

“Joe! I didn’t hear you come in.” She stated the obvious, and it was an equally obvious cover for whatever was bothering her. “Yes, of course I’m fine.”

“The table’s not set.” It was tradition. Same tablecloth. Same matching napkins. Same dishes. All things they’d received as wedding gifts the summer they’d graduated. Before she’d started law school and he’d gone to work for a brokerage house while enrolled in a master’s in finance program.

Dillon, who’d been financially unable to stay in college had been working in his father’s garage by then….

“Yeah,” Cor was chuckling. “Go figure. I forgot to get a cloth for my new table.”

Get a cloth? Why, if he was still next of kin and had a key to the place, should the old tablecloth not also still be acceptable? “You’re not following tradition?” He was mildly curious, that was all.

And a bit confused as to why he hadn’t seen Janie’s car out front. He’d purposely waited to arrive fifteen minutes after their friend was supposed to be there. Even with a special needs four year old, Janie was always on time.

“It didn’t fit.” She led him down the hall toward the main living area. He studied her back. Felt something a soon to be divorced man should definitely not be feeling for his soon to be ex-wife.

“And I failed to get another one.”

He stopped. Thought maybe her voice broke. But when she turned, her eyes were alight with the constant glint of joy he always read there. He’d thought a time or two that Cor would probably even be able to find joy if she were to be locked up like the defendants she prosecuted and put away for life…

“It’ll save the worry of staining it,” she said. “With Dawson sitting at the table now, and feeding himself, Janie would have spent the whole meal fretting….”

True. But Cor wouldn’t have worried. She’d have found a way to love any stain that appeared that she couldn’t get out. Turn it into a reminder of the joy Dawson brought to all of their lives.

With his perennial good humor, and loving nature, the kid could have been Cor’s kid.

Not that she wanted any of her own. Being a godmother was enough for her. She’d said so often enough.

To a flood of relief inside him each and every time. As much as he loved being the little guy’s god parent, he panicked at the thought of being a father. Of Cor suddenly changing her mind about parenthood—seeing how happy Janie was with Dawson—and wanting him to put his genes into an innocent human being.

And divorce wasn’t instilling its own sense of unease? The question rose unbidden.

He was saved from answering the thought when the doorbell rang.

Janie had arrived. Bringing the delightful distraction of Dawson’s unique way of looking at the world with her.

Thank God.

CHAPTER TWO

Corrine practically ran for the door when the bell sounded. It wasn’t like Janie to be late.

The table wasn’t set, but her friend was too astute to call her on it. Unlike Joe who used to understand her but didn’t pick up on her vibes anymore. One of the many reasons she was glad for the divorce.

It hurt too much to live with someone who treated you as though you were invisible half the time, and someone who didn’t know you the rest of the time. And hurt too much to live with him knowing that you were no longer making him happy.

Relief from pain brought joy.

“Where’s Dawson?” The words were Joe’s coming from right behind her. “Where is he?” she said, right on the tail end of Joe’s question.

“Out in the car.” Janie looked odd. Not worried. Or scared. But…nervous. She handed Joe the big lidded roasting pan that had been cooking their Thanksgiving Day bird for more than ten years. It had been a bridal shower gift from Dillon’s Mom.

Corrine stepped past them. “I’ll go get him,” she said. Dawson would be calling her name, his rendition of it, as he always did when his mother pulled onto Corrine’s street.

“No!” Janie’s voice split the air, and split the calm inside of Corrine. “Wait.” She stood there rubbing her hands together. Smiling. And looking worriedly between the two of them.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I know I shouldn’t have done this… I knew yesterday that I shouldn’t, but I did, and here we are, and…”

She gave them each another long glance, as though assessing their reaction to whatever she’d done before she actually let them know what it was.

Joe held the twenty pound bird in front of him as though it weighed no more than the towel surrounding the pan.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Corrine asked. She and Janie had been best friends their entire lives. They told each other everything.

Except, apparently, when they didn’t.

“You know that ad I saw about the Thanksgiving contest for that Family Secrets cooking show?” she asked, her hands kneading each other in double time now.

“You sent in your grandmother’s dressing recipe,” Corinne said, starting to feed off of Janie’s excitement. She had no idea what this had to do with Dawson still being in the car, but… “Did you hear something back from then?”

Janie nodded, her grin growing slowly until it was a full blown smile. Accompanied by a gush. “I got the call yesterday! I’m a finalist! Can you believe it? The show’s host, Natasha Stevens, is making dinner on set here in Palm Springs today, using all of the finalists’ recipes. She had people write in who couldn’t afford to make Thanksgiving dinner this year and chose four families to join her on stage to share her meal. The adults and kids all vote for their favorite dish, and the one that wins is a contestant this upcoming season!” The words came out loud enough for the neighbors to hear. But so quickly they were almost hard to understand.

“Well, let’s get that boy out of the car and start celebrating,” Corrine said, stopping to hug her friend tightly on her way to the car.

“No, wait,” Corrine said, holding both of Corrine’s forearms as she went to pull away. “That’s just it. We aren’t staying….”

The smile left her face. Or most of it did. The little bit that was left was tremulous at best. “Ms. Stevens invited all of the finalists to be in the audience for today’s Thanksgiving special live show. She wants the winner to appear on stage at the end of the show, as a promo for the upcoming season. She even offered to pay flight and hotel for those who weren’t local. So…I’m…”

“Going!” Joe said, nodding, the pan still suspended between his hands. “We’ll be happy to watch Dawson for you!”

Corrine was frowning. Why hadn’t Janie called her yesterday with this incredibly momentous news? As a single mother with no real marketable skills aside from cooking, Janie was having a difficulty finding a way to afford all the time necessary to get Dawson to the therapies that would greatly increase his chances of integrating into regular classrooms and lead a fully productive life.

If she could make it as a chef, her financial and time worries would be over.

“Thank you, but…” Janie said, stilling holding on to Corinne. She looked her straight in the eye, begging for forgiveness? Understanding? “I’m allowed to bring one guest,” she said, and Corinne instantly caught her meaning. She wanted Joe to watch Dawson alone so the two of them could—

“And I’m taking Dawson,” Janie said. Then added in a rush, “It’s a family show. Families’ secret recipes. And Dawson…he’s my family…”

When tears filled Janie’s eyes, Corinne finally clued in. “You want to win more than just about anything, but you can’t be on the show if Dawson is going to be an issue….”

Janie had already lost two jobs due to situations with her son. Once, when Dawson flipped out in daycare and she’d had to leave work, and another time when she’d been unable to travel due to her son’s special needs. Corinne and Joe had been on vacation in Bali that time, or they’d have taken the boy.

“Exactly,” Janie said. “And…I’m leaving the two of you alone.”

True dawning hit, then. She looked at Joe, who was still holding the turkey, and knew that Janie hadn’t called earlier for one reason. She hadn’t wanted to give her and Joe the chance to make other plans for Thanksgiving dinner.

The person who was taking their split harder than either of them was playing matchmaker.

The gesture was so sweet, Corinne started to get choked up again. Like she had earlier in the bedroom when she’d put away her grandmother’s tablecloth.

It wasn’t like her to get overly emotional.

Unless she was overflowing with joy…

Yes. That must be it.

The day was overly fulfilling its promise of joy.

* * *

“So…you want help?” Feeling more than a little awkward, Joe leaned against the archway leading into Cor’s big, bright kitchen. It occurred to him that he should offer to leave, but he dismissed the idea.

She had a twenty-pound cooked bird stuffed with dressing. He couldn’t leave her to deal with it by herself. Carving it alone would be a chore.

His chore.

Every year for the past twelve.

“You can set the table,” Cor said, and he watched her, wondering if she was deliberately disrupting his equilibrium—and if so, why.

“You want me to set the table?”

She’d always reserved the task for herself. Always. Said she loved creating the aesthetic beauty that marked the most important meal of the year. Silver had to be polished—even when it had been the cheap stainless they’d had in their first apartment. Napkins ironed and perfectly rolled so the same exact leaf showed at the top of the hand-painted ceramic napkin rings.

“I was thinking we could just eat in here,” she said, motioning toward the small breakfast nook. “Or there,” with an elbow she indicated the two bar stools at the counter across from where she was working.

She wanted to eat Thanksgiving dinner at the bar?

Something definitely was not right.

CHAPTER THREE

Focusing on how excited and nervous Janie would be feeling, thinking about Dawson’s aversion to crowds and new settings, Corinne unstuffed the bird.

Joe had left the room.

Left it lacking…something. Or rather, Janie’s absence had done that. Still, next to Joe, she loved Janie more than she’d loved just about anybody, and the news she’d just received filled the entire day with joy.

“Did you talk to your mom?” Joe was back, leaning in the doorway when he should have been setting the table.

It was a small task. She could rely on him to handle that for her, couldn’t she? Without being all wifely and needy?

“Not yet,” she told him. Her parents, still in the home she’d grown up in in Chicago, would have an overflowing house for the next few days. With seven kids, many of whom who had spouses, and a few of whom had children, they took their dinners in stages. An event that had been overwhelming to Corinne—the one who most often was doing dishes, re-heating food, taking care of the chores that had fallen naturally to her.

Not that she’d minded. It had given her a way out of the chaos that always seemed to surround her four youngest sisters. Most particularly when her brothers were on their rampages. Back then, instead of siblings’ spouses and kids, the house had been overrun with aunts and cousins and grandparents, as well.

“I half thought you’d go home this year.”

His words made her angry. Because they pointed out how little he knew her anymore. She took a moment to breathe. And then turned. “How could you possibly think that?” she asked him, the first directly personal question she’d uttered in months.

His shrug looked uncomfortable. “I just thought…with us…that you’d go back to what you did before you and me…”

For an intelligent, articulate man he sounded just plain stupid.

Frowning, Corinne paused with her hand on the foil that would cover the dressing in the baking dish before it went into the oven with the cooked bird. Everything would hold on low heat while she made the Waldorf salad, mashed potatoes, gravy and green beans. She’d heat the rolls while Joe carved.

“Do you not remember me at all?” she asked, looking him in the eye. “Didn’t you ever listen to me? Really listen?”

“Of course I did.” He put his hands in his pockets as he stood up straight. “I just thought, now…with everyone older…”

“I hate holidays with my parents.” Which was why they’d never spent one in Chicago. Ever. “If that makes me a bad person, it does, but the cacophony upsets my equilibrium and I’m edgy and no fun and end up in the kitchen all alone, feeling horrible because everyone wants me to join them and then think I somehow look down on them because I can’t be one of them…”

What on earth was she doing? Spitting drama all over the room. As Joe would say. He hated that.

Mostly, she did, too.

Which was why she didn’t do holidays with her family.

“I can’t find my joy when everyone is together,” she finished, softly, feeling the threat of tears for the third time that day.

She was uncharacteristically weepy, thinking of that evening six months, two weeks and three days ago when he’d been as emotionally distant as a stranger. She’d blurted out that she thought they should get a divorce. She hadn’t really wanted a divorce. She’d just been so tired of hurt feelings. He’d been nonplussed, but not really all that shocked, and it was when he’d calmly agreed that she’d realized she wanted it, too.

That night they’d vowed to always remain close friends. Later that night. After hours of talking. They’d finally both acknowledged the ways they’d grown apart. His career had taken a hold of him as hers had her. Both of them loved their jobs and neither one of them had any desire to give them up. They’d both agreed that in order to succeed, to climb their career ladders, they had to be present in their own individual career worlds. Always ready. Focused. The things that they used to do together, holding Sunday breakfast as a date for just the two of them, always saying ‘I love you’ before they left each other or hung up the phone, going to bed together every night, had slowly gotten lost along the way. Losing out to Sunday morning golf games with investors, hurried telephone goodbyes with others in the room, late nights and early mornings that didn’t coincide.

She remembered the night so well because it had been so ironic how, during their conversation agreeing to divorce, she’d felt closer to Joe than she had in years.

Until the next day when he’d texted her to let her know he’d seen their lawyer and put in motion the friendly, uncontested divorce they’d settled upon. His rush had hurt her all over again. Until she’d realized that he was right. They’d chosen to move on and the least painful way to do so was to just get it done. Like pulling off a bandage. It hurt less when you did it fast.

Now here they were, alone in her brand new life, getting ready to be thankful. He hadn’t said anything since her tirade about her family and, realizing that an awkward amount of time had passed, she finished with the foil, put the dish in the oven and turned toward her soon to be ex-husband. Damage control on her mind.

And the tip of her tongue.

Her efforts weren’t necessary.

He wasn’t standing there anymore.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to find her tablecloths. She’d been storing them in the big bottom drawer of her childhood dresser—the one thing she’d taken that her parents’ had offered when she’d moved to California had been her bedroom set. Bypassing the cloth he already knew was too big, he dug in the piles of neatly folded linens, looking for something a little smaller.

He shook one out before walking to the table and putting it on. Knew she’d hate how the corners of the table weren’t covered. He went back for a second. The edges hung on the floor. She wouldn’t like that, either.

After a third unsuccessful attempt, he turned toward placemats. There were blue ones—left from the tiny apartment they’d first shared. The kitchen had been painted a putrid shade of blue, but they’d had neither the resources nor the time to do anything about it. She’d taken lunch money to the dollar store, added a fake plastic flower arrangement, a couple of cheap plaques along with those placemats and the room hadn’t made either of them lose their appetite during the six months they’d lived there.

Shoving the placemats aside with the memory, Joe sought others. Discarded the white and red ones. Even if he could make the colors work, the hearts all over them loudly proclaimed Valentine’s Day.

He knew which one, too. In his mind’s eye saw the blanket in the middle of the hard wood living room floor of the home they’d just bought. Their first home. Cor had been certain that the fact that they’d closed on Valentine’s Day had been an omen.

He’d left the closing to go straight back to work—the day’s trading had called to him like a siren—and though he’d made it home in time for the champagne and steaks his wife had lovingly provided, he’d failed to even so much as pick up a card for her.

As he recalled, though, he’d made it up to her. Moving on past the red and white placemats, he thought about the trip he’d surprised her with just a few weeks later. That week in Bali was hands down one of the best memories of his life….

They’d just bought their first home. Were both still at the bottom rungs in their fields. They hadn’t had a lot to spend, but Corinne had made the most of the bare little table on the balcony of their very discount motel room, laying out their fast food breakfasts every morning as though they’d been fine dining….

Joe shut the dresser drawer.

Sometimes it was best not to remember.

CHAPTER FOUR

Outside of the office, Corinne didn’t like to judge people. As a prosecutor, she spent her days proving to juries and judges that people had done wrong and should be punished to the fullest extent of the law. Which was why tried extra hard to make certain that she didn’t treat her loved ones that way. But she was pretty close to pinning a guilty verdict on her best friend as she stood alone in her kitchen, cutting up celery, grapes, bananas and apples for a salad she wasn’t sure she’d able to swallow.

Unless she got lucky and found the joy in spending Thanksgiving day alone with the man who’d once made her feel as though he couldn’t live without her and now hardly even seemed to know who she was. The only thing that kept the guilty verdict at bay was the mitigating factor of Janie’s motive. Her friend loved her and Joe. Wanted only the best for them.

It wasn’t her fault she didn’t understand that them living apart was best.

In truth, spending the day completely alone would have been preferable to spending it alone with Joe. She could have driven to the ocean, spent the day in an entirely new and freeing way.

So maybe, as she sliced, the thought of being at the ocean didn’t fill her with joy, but that was because Joe was there.

And the loss of their love still hurt.

He could have made some excuse and left right after Janie did. She could have made it easy on him, asking him if he wanted to go, but, remembering the speed with which her suggestion of divorce had been met, she’d kept silent.

Joe’s friendship really did mean the world to her and she wanted him to feel as though he was welcome in her home anytime. Particularly on holidays.

Because while he might have forgotten her, she still remembered the few glimpses Joe had given her of the man who lived inside him. The most intimate peeks into who he was. A loner. A foster child whose parents had been killed in a boating accident when was twelve. It had been just the three of them, on vacation and…

He was back. “I’ve got the television tuned to the channel Family Secrets will air on,” he said, reaching for plates.

So that’s where he’d gone. And he was going to set the table after all. Funny how quickly her joy returned.

CHAPTER FIVE

“So…Monday’s the big day….” Joe was back in the kitchen after carrying silverware into the other room. Apparently he’d vetoed her suggestion of dinner at the bar or in the breakfast nook.

“Yep,” she said, moving aside to make room for him to empty a can of green beans into a pan. And then remembered exactly what was big about Monday.

The divorce. They had an appointment to go together to sign the papers on Monday. Their fourth appointment. She’d had to cancel the first one due to a trial that had run over.

He’d canceled the next two. Once because of a mini market crash. And the second time to attend a celebrity golf outing in Florida with a group of high-yielding clients who attended the Bob Hope classic with him every year in Palm Springs.

She’d offered to sign the papers herself and let him do them at his own convenience. When he’d vetoed the idea, sticking to their original agreement that they’d go out of the marriage as they come in—signing together or not at all—she’d actually had hope that he still cared.

That he didn’t want the divorce.

But nothing had changed. They still met for the occasional lunch. Texted each other several times a week. Acted as each other’s escort now and then when a date was needed.

And shared nothing more personal than a cab ride.

Listening to the whirr of the electric can opener she’d installed all by herself the weekend she’d moved in, Corinne poured whipping cream and sugar into a bowl. Joe loved Waldorf salad. And he liked his dressing sweet.

He dumped canned mushroom soup into another pan. Joe’s cooking was plebian at best, and most times he’d been happy to steer clear of it, but he liked his beans and soup straight from can to pan on Thanksgivings.

In years past, she thought his attachment to the tradition he’d brought into their marriage endearing. Had seen it as proof that the deep waters she’d always sensed inside her husband did exist.

That the dish held an emotional tie to the past he rarely spoke of.

Now the beans in the pan just annoyed her, symbolizing yet one more thing she knew nothing about. Because Joe didn’t share his emotions with her.

“You okay with things, then?” He stirred, and the sound of the spoon scraping against the metal pan jarred her nerves.

“What things? You mean the divorce?” Why wouldn’t she be? Nothing had changed.

“Yes.”

“Of course I’m okay with it. Aren’t you?” She waited. Holding her breath because…she didn’t know why.

“Of course.”

She breathed. Got herself some water, took a sip, before getting out the hand mixer. She’d whip the cream, stir it into the fruit, sprinkle it with walnut pieces and be ready for him to carve the turkey.

The turkey! She forgot about making gravy. Or putting the potatoes on to boil. Granted, she hadn’t been in charge of Thanksgiving dinner…ever. First she took orders from her mother, and then, gladly, from Janie. But she knew how to cook.

“I’m curious,” Joe said casually as she turned off the mixer and moved immediately to put potatoes into a pot.

“About what?”

“In the beginning you were so happy with me. I didn’t change. But you got less happy. Why?”

She stared at him. Then filled the pot with water, carried it to the burner. Turned on the heat. And then, back at the mixer, said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’d been unhappy with her. But she wasn’t going to play the blame game with him.

“In the beginning you knew how much I loved you and you were satisfied with that. With me. After a while, you seemed to want more.”

Maybe because the natural slowing down of their initial passion, the settling into a love that was taken for granted to be for a lifetime, had highlighted, for her, his secrecy.

She did know that he’d been shuffled around to various foster care homes in the LA area from the time he was twelve until he won a full ride scholarship to UCLA, where they met. She didn’t know a single name of a single person he’d lived with during those foster years.

She’d asked. She’d told him all her secrets. She’d tried to explain how badly she needed to see his inner self. He’d given her nonessential answers.

But, “You seemed to care less,” was all she said.

She didn’t want to do this. Not now. Not ever. Didn’t want to tear down the tenuous bond that would allow a lasting friendship between them.

He must have felt the same, because he let the matter drop.

* * *

Joe had just finished carving the turkey when the phone rang. He was closest and picked it up. Out of habit. Cor was mashing potatoes.

“Joe? It’s me, Janie. Oh, Joe, is Cor there, too? Put me on speaker phone….”

Corinne’s glance was curious. “It’s Janie,” he said, his thumb on the button that would bring their friend’s voice into the room. “She’s crying,” he warned softly. The show wasn’t due to air for another half hour. They were going to eat first, and then watch.

At Cor’s nod, he pushed the button and said, “We’re both here.” If the news were bad, Cor would handle it. She always did.

“Cor?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong? Is it Dawson? Do you need us to come down?”

“No! Oh, you guys, I just can’t believe it…” Her voice trailed off on an obvious sob and Joe exchanged a glance with Corinne. “I just…I just have to get a hold of myself. But…I never thought…”

“Janie,” Cor’s voice was firm. And yet still sounding like sunshine. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the studio. They told us to be here two hours before the show aired. It’s a live show, but I didn’t know they actually tape it before it goes on. It’s over already. I won!”

The last words were so loud they’d have heard without the speaker magnification.

“I won, you guys! I’m going to be a contestant on the next season of Family Secrets! Can you believe it? And if I win that, Dawson and I are home free. My little guy will be able to have years of extra therapies if he needs them and…”

“You won?” Cor’s mouth hung open after the last word. “You really won? I mean, I know you’re the best when it comes to cooking, but…national TV, Janie? You made it! Oh my gosh, I’m so proud of you, sweetie! Are you on your way home, now? How’d Dawson do?”

The questions and answers flew back and forth while Joe listened. Dawson did great. He didn’t like the bright lights on stage, but when Janie picked him up and stepped back out of the lights, the little guy had grinned and waved non-stop and the audience loved him. They’d been invited to a private dinner with Natasha Stevens and some of her people, to discuss the upcoming season, and she’d call whenever they were through. She told them to be sure and watch the show.

They’d both assured her they would.

And then Janie was gone, leaving her good news floating around the room with only Joe and Corinne to corral it.

He waited for her to do so.

To say something.

To get them back on an even keel and into dinner.

She mashed the potatoes when they were ready. Stirred gravy. Didn’t say a word.

The tension that had been building within Joe all day—and maybe for months—was excruciating.

He needed to leave. To move forward. To not look back.

But for once in his life, he couldn’t.

CHAPTER SIX

She had to say something. As she stirred the gravy, thinking about what bowl to put the potatoes in, Corinne tried to find her joy.

She had Janie’s joy to lean on. But for some reason Joe looked unhappier than she’d ever seen him. It was her job to cheer him up. To focus on good so that bad didn’t get them.

So that drama didn’t overwhelm them. So she could think, maintain homeostasis, be in control…

Of what? A condo she lived in all alone?

The gravy blurred before her eyes. Joe couldn’t see her cry….

“After Dawson was born, that’s when things really changed.”

She heard his words. Couldn’t look up yet. Not until she blinked another time or two. Slowly. So that the tears didn’t spill over onto her cheeks.

“How so?” she asked, just curious.

“It became obvious to me then that you wanted to have a baby.”

She did not. She… Wait. He was…venturing into territory they didn’t travel. Not out loud.

“I agreed with you before we ever got married that I didn’t want children, Joe,” she stated the obvious. Trying to figure out what he was doing. “That was a pretty key point for both of us. And one of the things that made us so right for each other.”

“I know. But we don’t stay the same forever….”

What was he really telling her? That he wanted kids? He was great with Dawson, but…

“Do you want kids?” she asked. Hoping he couldn’t see how badly her hand was shaking, she clutched the spoon tighter. Stirred more deliberately. And held her breath while she waited for his answer.

She didn’t care what it was. Just wanted him to give her something of himself again. Something real.

“No,” he said. And her stomach dropped. “I, unequivocally, did not change my mind. But I knew you had.”

So he was saying that was why he’d pulled away from her?

“Maybe you should have let me decide that.”

“You were always going to stick to your word, Cor. To our agreement. You were always going to make the best of not having children. But you weren’t going to be truly happy. You’re meant to be a mother.”

She thought of her years growing up. Of being ten and having to hold her baby siblings while her mom cooked. Having to play with toddlers instead of kids her own age so her mom could do laundry and nurse and clean toilets. The years she’d cleaned toilets so her mom could run a kid to one of a gazillion places. And the years when she and Janie would be in her parents’ car, running kids places, instead of out with the rest of the kids.

She thought. And tried to remember how out of control it all felt. How trapped she’d been. Tried to remember the panic. The headaches.

And wondered when those feelings had been replaced with a sense of joy in the midst of the chaos.

“Why, Joe? Why don’t you want kids?”

She’d asked. A long time ago. His answer had been typical of him. Something about his drive to succeed. His promise to himself that he’d never bring a kid into the world who didn’t come first. Back then those reasons had made sense.

But now? They weren’t kids anymore.

And Dawson…

He’d turned around. Was going to leave the room.

“Joe?” Her voice broke. He stopped. “Please, Joe. I need to know.” She was blinking furiously, but the tears fell anyway.

But one thing was very clear to her.

There wasn’t a smidgen of joy in them.

* * *

He could walk away. His legs worked. The door was only yards away. Joe knew when to hold his cards. When to fold them. As the old song said. He knew when to walk away. His uncanny ability to predict how things would go had made him a success beyond his own expectations in the field of finance. He knew when to buy. When to sell. So much so that some of the state’s richest men trusted his judgment over their own.

He’d fought his battle and won. He’d overcome.

He wasn’t going back. That had been his promise to himself. It was how he’d survived. Escaped his genetic heritage.

He could hear Cor behind him. Could hear a spoon against a pan. And a bowl. She was serving up the potatoes.

He knew she was crying. But wouldn’t turn around to verify.

He was standing on a precipice. A double edged sword. If he went back, death awaited. And ahead felt like death, as well.

He recognized the point, though he’d never been there before. It was going to define the rest of his life.

“I lied to you, Cor.” The words burned his throat as they passed through.

“About what?” She continued to move around the kitchen. Set the pan down. Opened a cupboard. He heard her.

“My parents didn’t die in a boating accident.”

All movement behind him ceased. Inside, civil war had broken out. In his mind’s eye he saw the sun, the blue skies. Felt the cool spray of the Pacific Ocean on his twelve year old skin.

They were on another adventure. He and his parents, who’d been in college in the sixties and thrived on adventure. They’d just returned after leaving him home alone for a couple of days….

“How’d they die?” Corrine sounded calm. Ordinary. Still far enough behind him.

He bowed his head. “They didn’t.”

He waited through her silence while she found her joy. Though goodness knew how she’d find joy in this one. But if he was going to live, or die, he was going to do it as himself.

He was done running.

Running was living like his parents did. Being them. Why he hadn’t seen that before, he didn’t know.

But Cor had. On some level, she’d known. She’d loved him enough to see. And on that same level, he’d known she’d known.

He turned, afraid, and lost, and yet, found at the same time. Wearing everything openly, letting her see into his soul, he faced her…back. Her hands were on the sink, she was leaning against them. Frozen there.

“They’re in prison, Cor. For the rest of their natural lives. While I’d thought they were traveling on business for the first twelve years of my life, it turned out neither of them had ever held a job in their lives. They were a modern day Bonnie and Clyde.”

They’d been wanted for a string of robberies all over the continental US that had spanned more than a dozen years. Had been so good they’d been on the FBI’s most wanted list. What had gone wrong, how they’d finally been caught, he’d never been sure.

What he had been sure of was that he wasn’t going to be like them. He was going to learn how money worked. How to make it honestly. And then to make enough of it that he’d never ever be the least bit tempted, or find himself in any way desperate enough, to even think about being a chip off the block.

“And this is why you don’t want children.”

He needed her arms around him like he’d never needed them before. She still hadn’t turned around.

“Yes,” he said, knowing that in her distance, he was getting what he’d earned. And determined that he would pay for the wrong he’d done her. Give her what she needed—the truth. “It’s horrible growing up knowing that you were born to a family of criminals. To either have to lie about your family, or have people react with fascinated horror. And then judge you accordingly. To spend your whole life trying to escape what you are. To prove to others, and mostly to yourself, that you aren’t what you are.”

It was what it was. Too bad it had taken him half his life to realize that. It had taken him losing the one thing he’d valued most, to show him that in a way, he was just like his parents.

And in another way, he wasn’t like them at all.

“This one foster mother I had,” he said now, slowly. “Her name was Bella…she told me that environment is much more impactful on who a person becomes than heredity.”

He’d done a lot of studying on the genetics versus environment theories. And hadn’t been able to confirm or dispute her findings. There’d been sufficient theory to substantiate both sides.

Cor turned then. She didn’t reach for him, take him to her heart as he’d hoped. She stood there, tears in her eyes, and shook her head, before asking, “What do you want from me, Joe?”

He wanted…her. All of her. Her love. Her life. And probably her children, too.

But couldn’t find the words. Didn’t have the courage to ask. And maybe didn’t find himself worthy. Even now.

* * *

When Joe turned around and left the kitchen, left her standing there, Corinne thought she felt her heart crack in two. She sank down to the floor and cried. Really cried. With a complete absence of joy.

She’d failed Joe. Failed herself.

And it hurt.

She knew the world wasn’t ending. But a lifetime was.

She’d be fine. So would he.

But she also faced the fact that sometimes life existed without joy. And that unless she could accept that, deal with the unjoyful times, she was only going to be half alive.

And very much alone.

Corinne didn’t hear Joe leave the condo. But figured he must have done. Until she stood up and saw his keys on the counter.

Had he walked out without him?

Walked away without them?

Called a cab?

Had he…

Moving in slow motion, she glanced at the food getting cold on the counter and headed toward the living area. Maybe he was still outside. On the porch. Maybe she could catch him.

She got two feet into the room and stopped. Joe stood there, hands at his sides, staring at her. She couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were saying so much, more than she could comprehend. She was afraid to move.

“I need the food,” he said aloud. Definitely not one of the conglomeration of messages she was reading.

“Okay.” Through her confusion she was getting a couple of key points. He hadn’t left. And still planned to eat with her.

She glanced at the table, out of habit, to make certain it was set with everything they’d need.

It wasn’t set at all.

Like her life, the table was completely bare.

He needed the food. To take with him? Corinne was going to turn back to the kitchen. Pack up Thanksgiving dinner for Joe to take home with him. To eat on his own. Just as soon as her legs would move.

His glance toward the television reminded her that they had to watch Janie’s show. She glanced that way, too, wondering if they were too late.

And stopped.

The coffee table had been moved aside. Her grandmother’s tablecloth was there, spread open upon the carpet. The dishes were there, too. The good silver from the drawer in the bedroom. Napkins. Napkin holders.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said. For a split second she was confused. And then she knew.

The first time he’d hurt her so badly she’d cried had been the Valentine’s Day in their first home. She’d made it a celebration. He hadn’t.

“Happy Thanksgiving.” He said next, as they both stood there, staring at that tablecloth filled with dishes. And so much more.

“I’m a reticent man by nature, Cor. But I love you. And I’m done running.”

Corinne ran to him. Throwing her arms around him, she burst into tears. Slobbering and messy and…alive.

“I’m done running, too,” she promised him, hardly daring to believe she was getting this second chance. She pulled back enough to look him straight in the eye. “I want the drama, Joe. The bad with the good. If I could handle it when I was ten, I can handle it now. Life isn’t perfect. I might panic now and then. Get tension headaches. I might yearn for children. You might never be okay with having any. But that’s real. It’s living. And I want to live, Joe. With you. Forever.”

“I want that, too,” he told her, meeting her gaze head on, letting her see a hint of the deep emotion lurking inside him. “I don’t ever want there to be mention of divorce in the context of us again.”

She smiled even though she was trembling. “Maybe with the number of times we’re cancelling the signing, they’ll ban us from asking….”

He was holding her so tight, she could have passed out and still been standing upright. She held as securely on to him. And had a feeling that they’d both be holding on to each other that way for the rest of their lives.

Joe kissed her. Long and with a passion she didn’t remember from the past. Promising a future better than anything she’d ever imagined.

“We need the food,” he said, when he finally lifted his head.

She’d forgotten about the food.

“I set the table,” he told her. And she heard the vulnerability in his voice. He needed to know she could forgive him. And needed to know, too, that what he had to offer was enough.

“Tell me. Why the green beans and mushroom soup out of a can?”

“It’s how Bella made them.”

With fresh tears in her eyes, Corinne took his hand and led him out to collect the dinner with which they’d offer their thanks. Maybe next year they’d be in Chicago. Or have a baby. Or be in Chicago with a baby.

Maybe Janie and Dawson could go with them.

She was open to it all. To whatever the next year, the next years brought. Because by accepting all that life had to offer, she had a bare table, but a life that was, for the first time, completely filled with joy.

* * * * *

Be sure to check out the books in Tara Taylor Quinn’s FAMILY SECRETS miniseries!

FOR LOVE OR MONEY

HER SOLIDER’S BABY

Available now from Harlequin Heartwarming.

And look for the next FAMILY SECRETS story from Tara Taylor Quinn, THE COWBOY’S TWINS, coming in January 2017!

Thanksgiving Turkey Dressing by Tara Taylor Quinn

I make this dressing from scratch every year—and it is featured in my novella!

Ingredients

16 ounces dried bread cubes (bagged or homemade)

6 stalks celery, finely chopped

1 medium-sized Vidalia onion, finely chopped

Turkey drippings, either from the pan the bird is cooked in or from cooking the gizzard, enough to moisten but not saturate (amount depends on what kind of bread crumbs are used). I let a little turkey meat slip in, as well.

1 teaspoon sage

1 teaspoon cumin

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 300 °F.

2. Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl.

3. Either stuff bird and let cook until bird is done, or put in a baking pan and bake until bread cubes are golden brown, about forty-five minutes.

Heart of a Hero

By Pamela Tracy

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Recipe: Sloppy Joes

CHAPTER ONE

The last time Nathan Williamson had enjoyed a home-style, sit-down Thanksgiving meal with family had been over a decade ago. The year before he married. His ex-wife hadn’t been the type to put together a traditional dinner, which after a few holidays spent at restaurants made it easy for Nate to work on Thanksgiving. Better to let an officer with a family enjoy the day. For the last few years, he’d been in prison. Nothing homestyle about Thanksgiving there.

His last real and happy Thanksgiving feast had probably been in this long-neglected house—his grandfather’s. One thing for sure, Nathan Williamson had waited too long to return home. Maybe because about two years ago, his definition of exactly where his home was and who he was had changed.

Had Arnold Herbert, the man Nathan called Grandpa, known that Nate really wasn’t his grandson?

Too early to tell, Nate figured. He’d only been back in Gesippi, Arizona, since this morning, and while his grandpa’s place was a mess, Nate couldn’t tell if he should blame the mess on neglect or on a trespasser.

His phone pinged, and he checked the screen: Lucille Salazar. The woman who’d given birth to him, but who, through no fault of her own, hadn’t raised him. She called about every other day now that he was out of jail. Mostly to invite him to dinner or just to tell him she loved him.

Love was such a confusing word. He wasn’t sure he believed in it.

“Lucille,” he said as soon as he’d swiped ON.

“You made it to Gesippi all right?”

“I did. A few hours ago.” He looked around his grandfather’s office again. He had his grandfather’s files spread across the couch. Nothing in the few photos and bits of paperwork—Nate’s school papers, Boy Scout awards, baptism certificate—indicated that Nate was anybody but a Williamson.

“You sure you don’t want help?” she said softly.

“No, I’m just getting started. I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do.”

“Good.” She’d spent the last two years not only getting counseling on how to deal with regaining a son after a forty year absence but also visiting him in prison—probably not what she’d expected to do after hearing the words, “Thanks to DNA testing, we’re very sure that Nathan Williamson is, in fact, your son Ramon Salazar, missing for forty-two years.”

His full brother, Rafael, had visited, too, but Nathan wasn’t sure if Rafe were pleased at gaining a brother or if he just wanted to protect Lucille.

“We’ve a few more family members coming for Thanksgiving,” Lucille said hesitantly. He knew she was afraid he’d disappear on her again. But he didn’t like being surrounded by people he’d never met, people who asked too many questions.

When he’d been a cop, he’d often asking the same questions over and over hoping to discover something new, something incriminating. But Nate didn’t know who had taken him or why. Even the how was a bit murky. He was in Gesippi for answers, answers he needed before he could go on with life, accept his fate, find his place.

“Sure, I’ll be there for Thanksgiving.” Nate switched the phone to his other ear and saw something gleaming beside the desk, just under the curtain. “I’m going to call you back. I’m in the middle of reorganizing my gran-, reorganizing Arnold Herbert’s office, trying to find any hints to the past.”

“I understand. Talk to you later.”

He tapped the END button and went to his hands and knees. He pushed aside the desk, knocking over a picture of Arnold and his only daughter Evelyn—who’d raised Nate—and reaching for whatever was glimmering.

He should have known better. Two years without a badge had dulled his reflexes; two years of questioning who he was had created a risk taker.

As the blade cut a half-inch scratch right across the pad of his thumb, he recognized his grandfather’s knife.

His finger started to bleed and Nate decided it was time to be smart and seek medical attention.

* * *

“Ouch!” The word came out a little louder than Nathan Williamson intended. Still, he didn’t appreciate the Don’t-be-such-a-baby look the too pretty doctor sent him. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but another “Ouch!” came out instead. He almost snatched his finger back, but the doctor had soft hands and a firm grip.

“Flesh wound,” Nathan grumbled.

“One that’s requiring five stitches. How did you cut it?”

“I was cleaning my grandfather’s office, saw something shiny on the floor and stupidly reached for it. It was a knife.”

Dr. Shainey Fitzsimmons turned, took a few steps over to the counter and washed her hands. Nathan had a good view of her backside and he felt his mouth go dry.

“What happened to Doc Thomas?” he asked.

“He’s gone fishing.”

Santa Claus lookalike Doc Thomas had opened the small clinic in Gesippi almost a decade ago, filling a need for a small town doctor. But this woman definitely wasn’t an elf from the North Pole, helping out, unless Santa’s elves were tall, slender, black-haired, brown-eyed beauties.

“And you took over his practice?” Nathan couldn’t keep the wonder out of his voice. She couldn’t be more than thirty, the world at her fingertips, why would she be here in Gesippi, Arizona, population nothing?

“Just for a few months. It was perfect timing. I needed to be in Gesippi, he needed to go fishing.”

She walked back over to him and his eyes strayed to the identification badge. “Fitzsimmons? Sounds familiar.”

“You probably know my aunt.” She snipped something with a pair of tiny scissors and Nathan got his first look at his red, swollen palm, now with black thread criss-crossing it.

“That’s all,” she said. “No amputation today.”

He shot her a ha-ha look before hopping down from the exam table and asking, “Is your aunt Agatha?”

“Yes, she was the librarian here for years. I’m staying with her.”

Nathan nodded. He was familiar with Agatha. Back when he was a cop in nearby Adobe Hills he’d occasionally called her for information. She knew everyone.

Maybe she knew how he’d come to grow up in Adobe Hills.

How he’d wound up the son of Robert and Evelyn Williamson.

He had no one else left to ask. His grandfather and both his parents were now deceased, so he couldn’t ask them how they’d come in possession of a stolen baby.

CHAPTER TWO

Shainey watched as Nathan Williamson strode from the clinic and out to an old black truck.She’d been here for six months, and he was absolutely the most interesting man to cross the clinic’s threshold. Most of her patients wanted to talk, convinced that whatever they suffered from was life threatening, or convinced she needed every detail of why they’d come to see her so she’d not judge them frivolous.

Not Nathan Williamson, he’d merely told her he’d been cut, had stoically—except for a tendency to say OUCH—held still for the stitches—right on the tender pad of this thumb—paid in cash, and seemed more than interested in her aunt Agatha.

He’d listed a local address on his form. Maybe he was related to somebody she knew. Heading to the front, she typed the address he’d given into the computer. When she located the house, she was more than annoyed. It was on Third Street, two spots down from the courthouse. Every time she drove by the two-story, fading, brown historic home with a dilapidated wrap-around porch, she’d been annoyed. How could anyone let such a beautiful home fall to ruin? If it were her property, she’d restore it to its natural beauty and fill it with a family.

So far, that dream wasn’t working out too well for her.She wondered if he’d inherited the property. He had, after all, mentioned a grandfather. If he’d inherited the house and now was hoping to sell it, she doubted he’d get out of it what money he put into fixing it. Very few people moved to Gesippi. But that wasn’t her concern. She tried to put Nathan Williamson out of her head.

* * *

The rest of the day, she dealt with a little boy with a ruptured eardrum and a visit from Loretta Snapp, who was in her eighties and came all the way from a neighboring town. Shainey got the idea the visits were more recreational than medicinal. A little comical, too, since Mrs. Snapp kept forgetting that Doc Thomas was on extended vacation.

As Shainey locked up the medicine cabinet and closed the clinic, she shook her head, imagining Doc Thomas and Loretta Snapp together. They’d be Burns and Gracie, Seinfeld and Elaine, perfect together.

Shainey’d not found her soulmate, though she’d been tricked once into believing she had. She’d met Jared during their third year of medical school. They’d gotten engaged before her residency started. They’d set the wedding date the day she’d hired on at a multi-specialty group. But he’d not liked the first place he worked and quit, saying he needed a break after the intensive hours of school and work.

Sliding behind the steering wheel of her Chevy Spark, she was still proud that she’d been smart enough to suggest they delay the wedding. She wasn’t sure if it had been gut instinct or good business sense.

She possessed both; Jared possessed neither.

Three months later, he’d hired on at a two-physician practice. Four months later, she’d opened the door to their apartment and invited his office receptionist inside.

His pregnant receptionist.

She’d kicked Jared out that night. Funny, but after the door shut behind him, Shainey realized how little he’d contributed to their existence. She’d picked out and paid for the furniture. She did most of the grocery shopping. She cleaned and took out the trash. She’d been so busy building a life that she hadn’t realized she was doing it alone.

For the next six months she worked and slept, licking a wound that didn’t heal, didn’t go away, but didn’t hurt quite as much as she thought it should.

Then, Doc Thomas had called to say that Aunt Agatha was slipping, suffering from a malady fairly typical in the over ninety set: loss of memory and increased forgetfulness.

Shainey didn’t think twice before quitting her job and moving here. She’d always loved Gesippi with its single grocery store, one restaurant, and majestic old courthouse guarding the town. In Phoenix, she was used to chaos. The six months she’d been here had been in Gesippi, well, had been calm—until this morning.

Something about Nathan Williamson gave her pause. There was a certain rugged appeal to him but also a sense of mystery. Why was he just returning to town now?

It took all of five minutes for her to stop at the grocery store, grab the makings of a salad, and head to the Victorian house she shared with her Aunt Agatha.

An old black truck was parked by the curb.

She hurried inside, set the groceries on the table, and stepped into the living room just in time to hear Agatha say, “Yes, of course, Nathan, I remember you. And I knew your mother. Happiest day of her life was when she had you.”

Agatha and Nathan were sitting on the hand-carved mahogany antique French sofa. On a good day it wasn’t comfortable. It was, however, small, allowing Agatha to pat Nathan on the knee.

He didn’t look quite so mysterious now.

He shook his head. “Agatha, Evelyn Williamson didn’t give birth to me. You see, right before I went to prison, I needed blood—”

“You’d been shot,” Agatha said, remembering.

Prison? Shainey had been right to think him mysterious.

Nathan nodded. “The sheriff in Scorpion Ridge, Rafael Salazar, donated blood for me and the doctors discovered fifty percent of our genetic material was identical. That means we could only be—”

“Brothers,” Shainey finished, stepping into the room.

Nate looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Then, he nodded.

* * *

Agatha sat straight up, clutching the arms of the chair. “Salazar? As in Ramon Salazar? The baby taken from the old hospital all those years ago?”

Nathan nodded. “That was me.”

Agatha sat back, putting a hand over her mouth and going a little pale.

Shainey hurried into the room, “Aunt Agatha, should I get one of your pills or—”

“Just water.”

Shainey fetched the water and returned to find her aunt once again patting Nathan Williamson’s knee. After taking a few sips, Agatha set the glass on the side table next to the couch.

“I remember when you were taken.” Agatha’s hand stilled. “And, over the years, I’m afraid you weren’t the only one.”

CHAPTER THREE

“Only one what, Aunt Agatha?” Shainey asked.

“I’m saying that Nathan here wasn’t the only baby that didn’t stay with the mother who loved him,” Agatha said simply. Then, before either he or the doctor could react, tears started dripping down her cheeks.

Nathan wasn’t sure what to do: stand, sit, leave? In a short time, he’d managed to upset the one person he’d hoped could help him.

Shainey’s voice wavered a bit as she asked, “Aunt Agatha, are you thinking about the Garcias?”

Agatha shook her head.

“Who are the Garcias?” Nathan asked. The name was vaguely familiar, but he’d not written it down as a lead. Garcia? Garcia?

Agatha coughed, then wheezed a bit. Her thin, frail fingers seemed to dig into the edge of the couch.

Shainey swirled around, talking as she hurried out of the room. “I’m getting your medicine.”

“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Nathan needed information, but not at the expense of a too pale, too emotional nonagenarian. He started to rise, but settled again when Agatha went back to patting his knee, not saying anything.

Nathan wished the doctor would hurry. The walls were starting to close in. This living room shouted female—a breed he’d never had much luck with. Every corner was occupied with frills. It also shouted family. There were photos everywhere, smiling people, happy vacations, lots of kids.

Shainey came back into the room, gave her aunt a pill and the glass of water. Once Agatha finished, Shainey held out her hand, clearly expecting her aunt to obey and get to her feet.

Nathan had the upmost respect for the medical profession. As a cop, he’d taken as many suspects to the ER as he had to jail. Should this woman hold out her hand to him, expecting him to obey, he’d do it.

“Ahem.”

Shainey’s interjection helped him shake off his reverie. He took the water glass from Agatha’s hand, wincing as it came in contact with his thumb, and helped guide her up by the elbow and then down the hall.

“I can come again tomorrow,” he said. “I still have questions.

Agatha glanced at Shainey. “It wasn’t like it is today, you know. In the sixties and seventies, lots of young girls got in trouble and gave up their babies, some unwillingly.”

Nathan noted the pained look Shainey sent his way even as she kept Agatha slowly moving.

“I was stolen,” Nathan reminded her. “My birth mother was married. Both she and my father were thrilled about having a baby.”

“Yes, yes,” Agatha said, her feet coming to a stop. “You were the exception. Usually, it was just the young, poor and naive.”

Shainey looked so surprised that she forgot to encourage her aunt to keep walking. “Exception? Aunt Agatha, do you know someone who signed away their baby because they were tricked or forced?”

Agatha nodded. “More than one. Most just young girls, like me.”

Shainey’s mouth gaped and she sputtered, “Aunt Agatha, you had a baby?”

“I did. Seventy-eight years ago. I was fifteen.”

“And you’re just now telling me?”

“Maybe it’s important now. Over the years, I wondered where the baby went. Adoption was so secretive in those days. Then there were the two that were simply taken.”

“Are you talking about Deidra?” Shainey asked.

Nathan remembered now. Deidra Garcia had gone missing a few years before Nate. But Nate had seen the files, read the newspaper accounts, local law enforcement and even a private detected had all concluded that she’d been taken by a family member.

Apparently not.

CHAPTER FOUR

Shainey didn’t leave Agatha until she was in a restless slumber.

It made no sense. For all Shainey’s life, Agatha had been a rock, a no-nonsense wealth of information, which she always delivered in a straightforward manner.

All this time, she’d held a secret. One that somehow knocked up against the mysteries of Nathan Williamson and Debby Garcia, Shainey’s childhood friend.

Why hadn’t Agatha spoken up sooner?

Hurrying from the room, Shainey headed for the living room: empty. The front porch was also vacant and the black truck was missing from the street. If not for Agatha, Shainey would have jumped in her Spark and chased Nathan down. She had a dozen questions and not just about what had happened to him, but about another baby that went missing from a neighboring town. Deidra Garcia was her friend Debby’s big sister. She would have been a bit older than Nathan.

But there was no way Shainey was leaving her aunt home alone tonight.

Back inside, Shainey set up her laptop on the kitchen table and ate her salad while she perused Gesippi’s history. When the mine closed in the late thirties, the population dwindled. All but three businesses closed. Then in the sixties, hippies moved in, among them Shainey’s mother who’d stayed a hippie a lot longer than most. In the seventies the mine reopened for a while, and the community refurbished the hospital.

The only photos of the reopened hospital were from newspaper articles describing the abduction of a baby Ramon Salazar. Before heading to bed, Shainey wrote down the names of the doctors and nurses mentioned in the articles.

Shainey picked up the phone. It might be nothing, but Debby deserved to know that another stolen child had returned home and an elderly great-aunt suddenly had spilled secrets.

* * *

The next morning, Shainey fixed breakfast for herself and Agatha. Her great-aunt seemed to have aged during the night but was willing to talk. Though she was still cagey about the answers she gave.

“Nate’s a good boy. I’m glad he’s out of prison. That ex-wife of his didn’t deserve his loyalty. Still, I know why he did it. He always thought he could fix things, fix her, but some people are too broken.”

“Where is she now?” Funny, after last night’s and forth about missing children, she had completely forgotten the reference to Nate being in jail.

“She’s still in prison and will be for a long time. Hopefully, she’ll get help for her addictions there. I’m sure Nate tried everything he could think of.”

Shainey knew from the news articles she’d read online last night that Nathan’s ex-wife had battled addiction. As a doctor, she’d seen even the mightiest fall to drugs. She’d watched people try again and again to reclaim friends and family members, bring them back to who they used to be. Her heart went out to Nathan.

Agatha spoke again about the baby she’d given up, about how she’d always wondered where her child was and how she was doing. And about how her parents had thoroughly convinced her to never bring the subject up: ever.

“It feels good to talk about her,” Agatha said. “She weighed seven pounds when she was born. I saw her for a few minutes, but the nurse wouldn’t let me hold her.”

Once Agatha settled down in front of the television, Shainey left for work. She got to the clinic at nine and prepped for her first patient. The clinic was a tiny house in a residential area, and it was a far cry from the beige and stainless steel practice she’d worked at in Phoenix.

Doc Thomas had converted three bedrooms into exam rooms. He’d given each room a decor. One was the Elvis room, one was the Star Wars room, and the last was the Rose room, named after his late wife.

Her first patient for the day was tiny Catherine Murphy, whose mother Meredith seemed more pained by the shot than Catherine.

After that, Shainey had a two hour stretch of free time. Locking up the clinic, she grabbed her laptop and drove by the address Nathan had given her the day before. His truck wasn’t there. Gesippi wasn’t a town where one could get lost easily. She headed down Main Street and soon stopped at the Drug and Dine, a local restaurant that served both as a convenience store and restaurant.

“I hear you had little Catherine in,” Keith Warner, the owner of the Drug and Dine, said as he walked her to her favorite table.

“Cutest baby in town,” Shainey teased.

“After our granddaughter,” Keith teased back.

When she spotted Nathan, she stopped. “I’m joining him.” She pointed, but Nathan didn’t even look up.

“I’m glad. Nate could use a friend.”

“You know him?” Shainey said, surprised.

“He helped us out a few years ago when he was still a cop. Someone kept stealing copper. They took it from our plumbing, our air conditioning unit, you name it. Nate caught them and made sure our stuff was returned. Saved us hundreds of dollars. Doesn’t matter what people say. He’s a good guy.”

Shainey thought about Nate’s sad history. In an attempt to save his ex-wife, he’d been caught withholding evidence and impeding justice. He’d not only been stripped of his police badge but served time. Two whole years. He’d been released just one week ago. Shainey figured he’d served enough of a sentence for trying to help a person he loved.She set her purse on the table and pulled out a chair. “Mind if I join you?”

He gave her a hooded look, but said, “Be my guest, especially if you can tell me more about the Garcia baby. Everything I’ve heard points to Deidra Garcia being taken from O’Grady, Arizona, by her father.”

Keith delivered her standard order of a coffee and cinnamon roll.

From the moment Shainey woke up this morning she felt as if she had an invisible companion, some unseen phantom whispering, “Something’s wrong.” Nathan’s words only cemented the notion.

He continued. “I remember the cops saying they believed the father probably took Deidra with him across the border to Mexico. Several witness heard him threaten to do it. “

“Debby’s mom never lost touch with her ex-husband, Javiar. She visited him. He visited her. They looked for Deidra for years, with no help. He didn’t take Deidra.”

Nathan looked intrigued. “And you met this Javiar?”

“More than once. Agatha even let me go on vacation with them. She said I was safer with Debby’s family than anyone else. Debby’s mom never let her out of her sight.”

“Because she’d lost one child.”

“Debby’s mom couldn’t get any one to believe her. People said she was just hoping that people would take pity on her and send her money.”

“Did they?”

“Yes, strangers even, and she used all of it to pay a private detective. He never found anything.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t know, but I can find out. I called Debby last night and told her about you.”

“What did she say?”

Shainey finished the last bite of her cinnamon roll, pushed the plate aside, and said, “She said she was happy for your mother, but didn’t think your story and her sister’s story were the same.”

“How come?”

“Because you were snatched from a hospital and her sister was taken from their home. Your family had money and her family did not. Your abduction garnered national attention and her sister’s did not.”

“They lived pretty far from a hospital or good-sized town, right?” Nathan queried.

“Yes. Debby’s grandmother delivered Deidra in the family home. Then, a few days later, someone came in their house during the night and took the baby from her crib. End of story, according to Debby.”

He glanced out the restaurant window at a town in the middle of a slow pre-noon Tuesday, and said, “Some stories never end.”

Looking across at him, Shainey got the feeling he was talking about his own story, how the pages were turning but he still didn’t know fact from fiction. She reached out and covered his right hand with hers, noting the warmth of his hand, the ruggedness.

Last night, she’d been determined to help Debby. Now, Shainey was just as determined to help Nate.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nathan took his hand from under Shainey’s. She’d surprised him by reaching out to him, curling her fingers around his and offering comfort.

She offered something he didn’t deserve but maybe he needed: a friend. Only he wasn’t sure he knew how to trust again. He’d fallen for a beautiful woman once before. Could he trust this one to be as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside?

Right now, though, she was all he had.

He clasped his hands on his lap. “I still feel like Nathan Williamson, son of Evelyn and Thomas Williamson. Yet now I’ve met my brother, and I have a birth mother who can’t seem to stop touching my hand, brushing imaginary lint from my shoulder, or whispering the name Ramon…”

Nathan doubted he’d ever self identify as Ramon Salazar.

To his surprise, Shainey said something that made sense. “When I spoke with Debby last night, all she relayed was anger. Her sister was taken forty-five years ago, and the family has never stopped grieving.”

“I can relate to anger,” Nathan said, thinking he’d rather be talking to an angry Debby than to gentle-touch Shainey who was making him consider other things besides hunting for his past.

“Look,” she said, “I can’t even imagine how betrayed you feel. But my Aunt Agatha cried last night. You want to know the last time she cried?”

He didn’t respond.

She continued. “Never. I’ve never seen her cry.”

“You’ve only been here a few months,” Nathan pointed out, revealing that he’d researched her just as she’d researched him. Outside of her medical experience and a Facebook page that seemed to center on music and a love for rock climbing, she had a very limited social media presence.

Smart woman.

“I spent plenty of summers here,” she continued, “just Agatha and me. That’s how I became friends with Debby.”

“That’s—”

Shainey wasn’t ready to stop. “Do you remember what Agatha said right before the tears started falling?”

Nathan frowned, sifting through last night’s conversation.

“She said you weren’t the only baby that didn’t go home with the mother who loved him.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at her, his mind generating probabilities. He was no longer a cop, but he still had a cop’s mind—analytical, probing—and he could produce a dozen worst-case scenarios in under a minute.

“My great-aunt,” Shainey said, “thinks that something bad happened in Gesippi, to more than one family.”

“She could just be overwrought,” Nathan argued, half-heartedly.

“Not my great-aunt.”

He sighed again. Shainey busied herself with stirring a tiny bit of water left in her glass. Being open and honest with her would make things a lot easier.

Reaching in his shirt pocket, he brought out a folded newspaper article. It was a copy of the original with words highlighted and a few notes in the margin, dated December forty-two years ago.

“So,” Shainey said, after she finished reading it, “basically you’re birth mother was over forty, high risk, and supposed to deliver in Phoenix. It was a fluke you were in Gesippi at all. No way could your abduction have been premeditated.”

“Right,” Nathan said. “My birth mother tried for twenty years to get pregnant. They stopped trying, but a few years later, she wound up pregnant with me. She and my father took every precaution. They left Scorpion Ridge on Monday morning, heading for Phoenix.”

“She left home when she felt the first contraction?”

“No, she left a week before I was due. They’d arranged for a place to stay just minutes from the hospital.”

“So, she went into premature labor.”

“Right. They were heading for Phoenix but only got as far as Gesippi.”

“And this would have been during that brief period when the mine was open and the hospital operating?”

“Yes.”

“Have you spoken to anyone who worked at the hospital then?” Shainey queried. “I found a few names online.”

“Both doctors are dead. Of the two part-time nurses, one is also deceased and I haven’t been able to find the other one. The full-time nurse, though, is still alive and answered her phone when I called.”

“Willing to talk?” Shainey raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Most doctors and nurses are taught to be pretty closed-mouth about patients.”

“Yes, but the patient in this case is me. Patsy Kidd—the nurse—said that in the late seventies, Gesippi Hospital only had three functioning units: obstetrics, pediatrics and central. They only had one full-time nurse, her, and two doctors. Once she figured out who I was and why I was calling her, she got all weepy.”

“It is a unique way to lose a patient,” Shainey said.

Nathan hadn’t thought about it that way.

She glanced back at the newspaper article. “What else did the nurse tell you?”

“That she was helping with a surgery when I was taken. She said she hadn’t been able to check on my mother for over two hours. When she came back in the room, she noticed the baby wasn’t there. They didn’t have a nursery, so I would have stayed in my mother’s room the whole time. She assumed I was with my father, who’d taken me for walks before. It wasn’t until later when my birth mother woke up and asked for me that they first suspected something was wrong.”

“I’m so sorry, Nathan. It’s unbelievable.”

“My mother remembered a nurse coming in and taking the baby for some test. Back then, nurses wore the same kind of uniform and their hair was under a cap. All my mother could recall of this woman was that she was heavy-set and had blond hair, though she could have been wearing been a wig. Wigs were big in the seventies.”

And just like that he was five years old, getting picked up from kindergarten and running toward his mother—the one who’d raised him.

“Nathan,” Shainey said softly, “you don’t have to continue. We—”

“My mother had a wig.” Nathan said. “The one she wore the most was dark brown, russet she’d called the color. After her death, one of her friends told me she’d favored the wig because it made her hair the same color as mine. She loved that wig.”

“My mother was more of a flower child,” Shainey shared. “Today she still has long hair past her waist.”

“Same color as yours?” Nathan asked.

“Exactly the same.”

It was only over the last two years, after he’d met his brother and mother, that Nathan started to think about looks. The two brothers were nothing alike.

He continued, “They searched for the nurse but it was as if she vanished into thin air—and me along with her. Afterward, all the police and my birth family had was a picture taken a few hours after my birth.”

* * *

Nathan didn’t tell Shainey that he’d actually worked with his brother Rafael for years. He just hadn’t known the man was his brother. Except for their appearance, they had a lot in common. They’d both been struggling students, valued rules, went through boy scouts all the way to Eagle, and who’d joined the police force and quickly rose through the ranks.

Only Nathan had fallen in love with a woman who played hardball with drugs and destroyed both her life and his. She was still in prison.

* * *

But though he’d been released, he couldn’t get past the fact that his whole life had been a lie. He had no idea where to go, who to trust, or how to forgive.

CHAPTER SIX

She had a noon patient and only ten minutes to get back to the clinic. Walking away from Nathan Williamson had been a lot harder than she expected. So much so that she’d forgotten to pay for her coffee and cinnamon roll. She owed him now.

The woman in her wanted to soothe the poor man. No one deserved the pain he’d been dealt. But, he’d not acted like a man wallowing in self pity.

She appreciated that.

The doctor in her wanted to fix things, make him well. But he wasn’t broken. No, he looked like he could walk into any combat and come out the victor.

He was so different from anyone she’d ever met.

Shainey spent the next few hours dealing with insurance companies on the phone, treating ailments that afflicted the elderly, and stitching up another finger. This time the finger belonged to a local farmer, Danny Murphy, who’d had a close encounter of the wrong kind with his tractor. He wasn’t quite as stoic as Nathan. His ouches were accompanied by words that would make Great-aunt Agatha blush.

It was after six when she locked up and closed down the clinic. On her way home, she drove by the brown house on Third. The lights were on and she could see Nathan’s silhouette in the window.

How alone he must feel, torn between the memory of the family who raised him and the reality of the family who’d been robbed of the opportunity.

She thought of Aunt Agatha, who’d never married but had been such a mother to all the Fitzsimmons. Agatha was alone, too, and maybe by circumstances she couldn’t control.

Like Nathan.

Shainey remembered how alone she’d felt when Jared left. Similar to Nathan, she had filled the hours with work.

It had never been enough.

* * *

Wednesday morning, Agatha was back to her usual self. Shainey hoped it was a good time to question her a bit more. She put together a breakfast of blueberry pancakes and casually mentioned, “I shared an early lunch with Nathan yesterday at the Drug and Dine. You’re right, he’s a nice man.”

Agatha took a bite of pancake and said, “His grandfather, Arnold Herbert, was a year ahead of me in school. Played baseball. We all thought he’d leave and really be someone. Instead, he stayed here and really was someone.”

“When did he die?”

“Oh, thirty years ago, come June. Patsy could tell you the exact date.”

“The house has been empty that long?”

“No, Evelyn came back and lived in it awhile. She died about ten years ago. I’m pretty sure it was left to Nathan. Not sure why he didn’t want it. Adobe Hills isn’t that far away. But then, he was a cop, and maybe he needed to be close to his community. His wife was a bit too colorful for this town, or so she believed.

“Aunt Agatha, you said Patsy would know about what happened to Nathan. Isn’t she the nurse who was on duty when Nathan was taken?”

“Yes, for years Patsy was the town’s nurse. We sat on some committees together. She never married, though she wanted to. She always talked of having children. At the end, she was a home health care nurse. Even took care of Nathan’s grandfather. Called herself a home healthcare provider. She retired a good twenty-five years ago. I’ve been thinking about retiring.”

“Aunt Agatha, you already retired.”

“Oh,” Agatha giggled. “You’re right. How could I forget?”

Since Agatha was in good spirits, Shainey took her to the senior center and dropped her off in the main room. There’d be bingo and crafts. All things Agatha enjoyed.

Shainey’s first patient appointment wasn’t until noon, so she went searching for Nathan. He wasn’t at the Drug and Dine, so Shainey headed for his house. He answered on the second knock. He stood in the door looking like he’d just woken up, with tousled hair and wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans. It occurred to her that he always seemed, well, somehow to be in uniform.

“Something you need?” he asked.

“Agatha felt much better this morning. I asked her a few questions.”

He didn’t open the door wider or invite her in. But he did probe further. “Yes.”

“Did you know that the nurse who took care of your grandfather at the end was also the full-time nurse when you were abducted?

Now she had his attention.

* * *

Nathan opened the door and waved her in, still wondering how he’d acquired a female Watson to his Sherlock Holmes. Though he was a lot luckier than Sherlock. Shainey was everything a man could want in a woman: giving, funny, smart, funny…kissable.

Too bad he didn’t want any of those things.

“So,” Shainey said, clueless about the war going on in his head. She followed him into the living room and sat on a couch that billowed dust. “Why did you let your grandfather’s house get so rundown?”

“You’re nosy,” Nathan pointed out. “It’s really none of your business.”

“True,” she admitted. “But, when you came over the other night, you pretty much invited Aunt Agatha and me into your life.”

He gave a non-committal shrug. “It’s not good to involve civilians in an investigation.”

“You’re no longer a cop.”

He flinched. After two years, he should have been past the feelings of regret at his forced vocational change. He wasn’t.

“No,” Nate admitted, “I’m no longer a cop, and I’m currently living in my grandfather’s house and trying to figure out not only what happened to me just after my birth but how I came to be with a family that really wasn’t mine.”

“Do you think your parents both knew you’d been stolen?”

“You’re nosy,” Nathan said again, but this time his heart wasn’t in it. It felt good to have someone to bounce ideas off of. He didn’t want to call any of the cops he’d worked with, although he was sure they’d help. He sure couldn’t ask Rafe for help.

His blood brother was both amazed and apprehensive about Nathan’s return. Mostly because Nathan didn’t know how to approach his birth mother, a virtual stranger. The awkwardness when they were all together was still tangible. Nathan couldn’t call her mother. She’d not been there to wipe his nose, put band-aids on his skinned knees, applaud at his graduation. Evelyn Williamson had done all those things.

Yet Lucille Salazar deserved so much more.

So he was glad Shainey was here. If she wanted to help, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. He sat beside Shainey, reached for a photo album on the coffee table and opened it.

“This is Evelyn Williamson. The mother who raised me.” He turned the album so it faced her. A black and white photo showed a slim woman with coiled hair. She wore a short-sleeved A-line dress that was puffed out by a pregnancy bulge. Behind her was a large log cabin with carved bears on either side of the porch. “There’s a dozen more, even one or two from a baby shower. Evelyn is pregnant in all of them. And I’ve a birth certificate.”

“Agatha said she remembered how excited Evelyn was when she found out she was pregnant,” Shainey breathed.

Nathan pointed to a photo of a smiling Evelyn lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed and holding a baby.

“You?” Shainey queried.

“So I’ve been told.” He took another photo from the coffee table. “These are the only two pictures my birth mother, Lucille, had of me. Both were taken the morning I went missing.”

Shainey looked from the two loose photos to the ones in the album. “I’m not an expert, but the baby has black hair in both. They seem to be about the same size.”

“My brother had an expert compare them. He said there’s an eighty-three percent probability that it’s the same baby in both.

“So you not only need to find out how you came to be with Evelyn…”

Nathan nodded.

“But also what happened to Evelyn’s baby?”

“Yes, if there was one.” He leaned forward, and she was captivated not only by the pain in his eyes, but also by the strength. “Maybe Evelyn’s baby died. Maybe I was stolen to take his place. Maybe Evelyn was never really pregnant, and she pretended all along and there was a crazy scheme to abduct a baby when the time was right.”

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed,” Nathan said. “I can totally imagine the father that raised me doing something like that. He’d have done anything to keep my mother from being in pain, but I’m having trouble imagining that she would participate in such a scheme.”

“Where were you—I mean, where did Evelyn give birth?”

“A little town called Broken Bones. In the seventies, it wasn’t even on the map. Gesippi is big city compared to it. There was a doctor. He lived there, made house calls, I was delivered—” He stopped, regrouped, continued. “According to what I was told, I was a home birth.”

“Like Deidra?”

Nate nodded. “Somewhat. After I left you last night, I sat here and read everything I could find about the Garcia case. There’s not much.”

“And the doctor who delivered you is dead, too?”

Nathan nodded, “He died in prison. But that’s another story. It does, though, make you consider that he could have been bought.”

“Have you been to Broken Bones?” Shainey asked.

“A few years ago, as a cop, following leads, yes. Since I got out of prison…no.” He gauged her response. She probably knew his background, thanks to the Internet, but he wanted his past out in the open. Somehow what this woman thought of him was important.

She didn’t so much as blink before saying, “What else is on your list?”

“Thanks to you, the first thing on it now is visiting Patsy Kidd.”

“I’d like to come along. I want to help you,” Shainey said.

Something shifted in Nathan’s heart. Every sensible bone in his body told him to say no. If he did, he’d go on alone, but his steps would be heavier.

If he said yes, the tiny piece of hope that flamed when he’d spoken to Agatha, when he’d heard the name Patsy Kidd and found out there’d been another child taken… Well, when two fanned that flame, it was a lot easier to keep burning.

As if knowing exactly what he needed, she reached out and touched his hand again. The one with the stitches. Immediately, it felt better. So did he.

“We’ll go on Saturday,” he said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Broken Bones, Arizona, was so small that it didn’t even have a real main street, it was more of a main corner. Shainey looked at the tract of rundown houses and wondered what it would be like to live here. It was such a barren, lonely place.

“Nothing here to sustain the town,” Nathan said, after she commented about the condition of Broken Bones. “At the turn of the century, a tiny bit of gold was discovered. Just enough to get people here, not enough to get them home again. You go down some of these dirt roads and you’ll find people living in shacks, much the way people lived a hundred years ago. Down about ten miles, there’s still a community of panners. To the west, there’s a cluster of luxury homes.”

“Really?” Shainey sounded amazed.

“Some people like to be off the beaten path.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Easy, I often tracked criminals here.”

There was a convenience store with a post office and a second-hand store next to it. That was about it.

“I couldn’t live here,” Shainey said.

Agatha agreed with her niece. “Me, either. No library.”

Nathan was still amazed that Agatha had insisted on tagging along. “Patsy knows me,” she’d argued. “She’ll open up to me. We have a history. I want to hear everything that woman has to say,” Agatha insisted.

Nathan had a gut feeling that Patsy Kidd held the key to all the answers he’d been searching for. The only thing keeping Nathan from breaking the law and setting a speed record getting from Gesippi to Broken Bones was Agatha. She sat between him and Shainey in the car, looking so very small.

With every mile that passed, Nathan was more and more convinced that it wasn’t just coincidence that Patsy had retired to the same small town where he had “supposedly” been born.

“Things happen for a reason,” Agatha said as they idled at the town’s only stop sign.

The statement was out of the blue, but Nathan had to agree. Shainey seemed to as well.

He was amazed by her. He was more than surprised that Shainey seemed to accept him as he was. Over the last two evenings, they’d gone through his grandfather’s house, searching for clues that apparently didn’t exist. They’d shared histories, dreams, losses. He’d told her about why he’d failed to turn over evidence that might incriminate his ex-wife. She’d told him about Jared, and Nathan couldn’t believe the stupidity of her ex-fiancé. He’d apparently married his receptionist and had two children. But then he’d cheated on her and was now taking a break after all the hours of parenthood and workNathan couldn’t understand wanting to take a break from being a father or a husband. “I’ll always appreciate what I have,” he said, as the dirt road they were driving on suddenly widened into a rural community of luxury homes.

He meant it, too. He needed to appreciate Lucille Salazar for who she was, what she’d lost, and how she was willing to accept him—just as Shainey did—for who he was now.

Looking over at Shainey, he thought again how grateful he was to have her by his side.

Shainey had taken him to the Gesippi senior center yesterday and they’d spoken to a few people close to Agatha’s age. One had confided that she’d had a baby in the fifties and that the baby had died…

Or so she’d been told.

Two others had mentioned remembering girls who’d given babies up for adoption.

Nate checked Patsy’s address as they hit a curving road that boasted a few large cabins.

“It’s like a whole new town,” Shainey said.

Agatha stared out the window and commented, “I can’t believe Patsy’s living in a place this grand. She always thought she was special, though.”

“Perfect place to hide if you have money,” Nathan said. “It’s off the beaten path, and no one comes out here. Most don’t even realize this place exists.”

“Lots of beautiful homes,” Shainey said. “Look at that one. It has carved bears at the sides of the porch.”

They drove past it to a multi-level log home that boasted Patsy Kidd’s address. A wall of windows ended at a wrap-around deck.

A few minutes later, they’d parked, and he and Shainey climbed the front stairs to knock at the front door. An elderly woman opened it, took one look at them and slammed the door in their faces. “I’m calling the cops,” she yelled through the door.

“She’ll only get my brother,” Nathan remarked to Shainey and Agatha.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Shainey said.

“That was Patsy,” Agatha called from the truck. “I’d recognize her chin anywhere.”

“Well?” Shainey asked, “What do we do?”

“Let’s sit in the car in the air conditioning and wait for Rafe. We have quite a bit to tell him.”

It wasn’t a cop who showed up a half hour later, though. It was an Hispanic woman, pleasantly plump, with long, thick black hair and three children crawling all over themselves to exit the backseat of her vehicle before hurrying toward the house. The woman stared at them, concerned, and then took her cell phone out.

Nathan rolled down his window and said, “We came to talk to Patsy Kidd. She wasn’t willing to see us and threatened to call the police. We’re waiting here, hoping when the police show up, they convince her to have a word with us.”

“Why do you want to talk to my mother?” The woman didn’t come any closer, and she still held her phone like a weapon. Up on the wrap-around porch, the children were shouting, “Gramma, let us in.”

“I’m Nathan Williamson. I’m investigating a missing child case from over forty years ago. Mrs. Kidd might know something from her days as a nurse.”

“I wonder why she won’t talk to you. Let me speak with her. She might be in one of her moods.”

The minute the woman headed away from them and up the walk, Agatha said, “Patsy never married. I’m sure she never had any children.”

“Apparently she did,” Shainey said. “Must have happened when you were working in DC.”

“No. I came home often and always kept in touch with folks in Gesippi.”

The other woman had gone in the house. Her children at her heels. Even now, Nathan could see the curtain moving aside and knew Patsy was peering out at them.

Agatha closed her eyes, tight, looking ever so much like she was fighting with herself. “It’s important that everything is out in the open now.”

“Like your baby, Aunt Agatha.”

“Yes. I wanted to keep her, to raise her, but at fifteen, I still listened to my parents. Can’t change that now.”

“Is that why you never married? Did you love the man who fathered the baby?” Shainey asked.

“Goodness, at that young age, I didn’t know what love was. I just got caught up in the moment. I never let it happen again.”

Shainey and Nathan shared a look. Something sizzled between them, an acceptance, a connection, a promise of more.

“The best we can hope for is our children to grow up happy, healthy, and loved,” Agatha continued. “Like you did, Nathan.”

It took a moment, but he nodded. Agatha and her “Everything happens for a reason.”

“ “And I hope Debby accepts this, too, one day. That happy, healthy and loved is better than abused and neglected.”

“Aunt Agatha, what do you mean?”

“Unless I miss my guess, that woman talking with Patsy right now is, or at least was, Deidra Garcia.”

“What?” Nathan and Shainey said at the same time.

“My mind is not gone. Patsy Kidd had no children, but the woman who just parked next to us seems to be the right age and she resembles the Garcias, all that glorious hair and barely five feet tall. She looks nothing like Patsy. And if I remember correctly, it was about forty years ago that Patsy started commuting to work. She said the only land she could afford was far away from Gesippi. I’m thinking she wanted a child more than anything and found a way to get one. She stole one.”

Nathan called Rafe.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Patsy’s “daughter” came down to their car and asked them to leave.

Shainey looked at Nathan, wondering what he would do. She wanted to call Debby, but Agatha might not be correct, could not possibly be correct. And while the claim sounded good, how on earth had Agatha culled such a declaration?

Nathan looked like he believed Agatha.

“We don’t want to put anyone out,” Nathan said, “but we’ve driven a long way. I just have a few questions.”

“My mother’s upset by your being here. She’s not well. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

“We already called them,” Nathan said, “That’s how serious this is.”

The woman looked annoyed, and Shainey felt sympathy for her. She understood what Agatha meant by healthy, happy and loved. This woman was worried about her mother, much like Shainey worried about and was now taking care of Agatha.

But if Agatha was right, the woman was about to have a lot more in common with Nathan than with Shainey.

For the next hour, the time it took for Rafe and his deputy to arrive, the woman paced the porch, clearly agitated.

Rafe came up to Nathan’s car, nodded his head, and listened to what Agatha had to say. Shainey showed him a photo of Debby from her cell phone. Rafe wasn’t nearly as impressed by the likeness as Shainey was. Then, both he and the deputy headed to the porch and spoke with the woman standing there. After a moment, Rafe motioned for the others to join them on the wrap-around porch.

Patsy finally came outside and sat stone-faced in a rocking chair. She gave Agatha a dirty look but didn’t even glance at the others. From inside the house, a cartoon provided background noise.

Agatha took the second rocker.

* * *

“This is Josie Bell,” Rafael introduced the other woman. “I take it you’re acquainted with Patsy Kidd.”

Shainey was the only one who didn’t nod.

“Agatha,” Patsy said, “I didn’t realize you were in the car. I’m surprised you’re helping this man with all his questions, stirring up the past.”

“I told them about my baby,” Agatha said. “You can’t hold that over my head. And I won’t keep silent anymore. It was your mother who took the baby from my arms all those years ago. Your family got good at taking what didn’t belong to them. I didn’t put all the pieces together until just now.”

For the first time, Josie appeared uncomfortable instead of annoyed. “Mom, you don’t have to talk to them.”

Rafe cleared his throat. “Since I’m personally involved, I’m turning this investigation over to my deputy. Ma’am, you’re not under arrest, but I suggest you call a lawyer—”

“What! Investigation?” Josie stomped a foot on the wooden floor and looked at her mother. “What going on, Mom?”

It was Shainey who answered but not in words. She pulled her cell phone from her purse, pulled up a photo and handed it to Josie.

“Who’s this?” Josie asked.

“Her name is Debby Garcia,” Shainey said.

“So?”

Shainey looked at Patsy, waiting. Patsy started rocking, a jarring back and forth motion. There was anger in the movement. And, a look of guilt so pronounced that Josie’s face twisted.

“Mom, what have you done?”

* * *

The rocking chair stilled and Patsy looked at Josie, a pleading expression, and one so very similar to the one Lucille Salazar had given him during their first meeting. Nathan vowed she’d never look at him like that again, as if asking forgiveness.

His mother had nothing to forgive.

Nathan addressed to Josie. “I was abducted forty-two years ago from a hospital where your mother worked. I recently was reunited with my birth family. I think your mother has information that will help me figure out how I was taken from one mother and raised by another.”

“Most everyone involved is dead,” Patsy said in a monotone. “You’ll probably never know the truth of what happened.”

“I’ve gotten this far,” Nathan said. “I’m will uncover the truth. Did you know Evelyn because she had family just down the rode?”

“What?”

“Evelyn Williamson. She had her baby here in Broken Bones. The house with the bears on each end. We just drove by it. That will be a link to you. I’m thinking your dad, or some family member, was probably a doctor.”

“Uncle,” Josie said, earning a dirty look from her mother.

“It’s time for you to go,” Patsy said. There was no waver in her voice now, no sagging posture, and the rocking chair started moving again.

“Deidra Gracia was taken forty-five years ago.” Agatha looked at Josie and asked, “How old are you?”

“Forty-five.” The words were slow, each directed at Patsy and not Agatha.

“Josie, take the kids and head home,” Patsy ordered.”I’ll call you later.”

“I’m not leaving you, Mother.” Josie seemed ready to cry. Shainey understood the feeling.

“Do what I say,” Patsy said firmly. “This has to do with my uncle, and I don’t need you and the kids involved in it.” Turning to Nathan and Rafe, she said, “I’ll tell you about what happened with Ramon Salazar, just leave Josie out of it.”

“Why? Why should I be left out of it?” Josie insisted.

“Because you’re a stolen baby, too,” Nathan said simply.

* * *

For an hour, Patsy sat behind the gray table of the interrogation room in the Gesippi police station. She refused to talk. Josie had handed the kids over to their parents—turned out she was the grandmother and Patsy the great-grandmother—and sat next to her mother saying, “Give them the truth. I want to hear it, too. I’ve always wondered why there were no pictures of me before the age of three.”

Nathan didn’t say anything. He was too afraid that he and Shainey would be asked to leave the room. Nothing about this interrogation was usual.

The deputy, Terry Fletcher, clearly wanted Rafe to take the lead.

“We can do this another time,” Rafe said. “We’ll take the case to Phoenix, so we’ve an unbiased—”

“No,” Josie said, “my mother’s going to talk now, or I’ll never call her my mother again.”

Patsy keened.

Nathan’s throat closed. When this was all over, he knew what his new career was going to be. He’d work to retrieve stolen children. Surely he’d be allowed to do that.

“Mother, I love you, but it’s time for the truth.” Josie reached across the table and held out her hand for Shainey’s cell. Shainey handed it over, the photo of Debby up on the screen.

“Who is this? Better you tell me than anyone else.”

“Her name is Deborah Garcia. She is your sister.”

She started to talk then. Over a period of fifty years, she and her uncle had guided a few babies into the hands of parents willing to bypass the system and pay cash for newborns.

“We were careful,” Patsy insisted. “All the babies went to loving homes. And all the mothers signed away their rights.”

“Or their parents did the signing,” Shainey said, thinking of Agatha. Her aunt had fallen asleep on the drive back from Broken Bones and was now at home.

“But the Salazars didn’t. Neither did the Garcias.”

Patsy tried to shrug, hiccuped and reached across for Josie. “We’d promised someone a baby but the baby died.”

Josie deserved a humanitarian award. She clutched Patsy’s hand.

“The parents threatened to expose us if we didn’t deliver.” No one smiled at the play on words.

Patsy continued, “I knew that the Garcias had a new baby delivered at home on their farm. It was easy. Middle of the night, in and out, no one heard or saw a thing.”

“The Garcias hired a private detective,” Nathan said. “How could he not have investigated you?”

“He probably did,” Patsy said. “But, remember, the doctor and I took Josie to another family.”

“And?” Josie said,

“When you turned three, they had a biological child. Then they no longer wanted you.”

Nathan would never understand the mind of a criminal, and Patsy was a criminal. Still, as the words “They no longer wanted you” silenced the room, Patsy leaned forward and said firmly, “But I did.”

Shainey’s pressed her hand into Nathan’s. He felt the pain from her heart, and he squeezed.

“I took you in, made you my own, and loved you every minute, every day, from then on. I was a good mother.”

“Yes, you were, are. Excuse me.” Josie’s chair scraped across the floor as she stood. “I need a drink, water, a moment.”

“I’ll get one of our female officers to help,” Rafe offered.

Shainey immediately stood. “I’ll go with you.”

Josie hesitated, then nodded. Together, Shainey’s arm around Josie’s shoulders, they left the room.

“How did I wind up with the Williamsons?” Nathan asked softly.

Patsy looked at the ceiling as if searching for the words. Finally, she began, “Evelyn’s family owned the cabin just down from my uncle. “In case you’re wondering, she really was pregnant and at the exact same time as Lucille Salazar.”

Nathan and Rafe looked at each other.

“When Evelyn came to Broken Bones, nine months pregnant, Josie had been living with me for all of three weeks. My uncle loved children. He watched Josie while I was at work. I was in love with being a mommy. I wanted to quit the hospital and just help my uncle, but I needed more of a nest egg if I was going to be able to keep this place for us.”

“So you stole babies. Were both doctors involved?” Rafe asked.

“No, just Hemingway. He delivered the babies. The other doctor we called The Bone Guy. Dr. Hemingway, in his own way, thought what we were doing was helping. After all, these were girls who either couldn’t take care of the baby or whose family didn’t want the world to know. In most cases we were doing good.”

“And your uncle was involved too?” Rafe queried.

“Sometimes we’d need a place for the babies to stay before we gave them over to their new parents. My uncle’s house, now mine, was perfect, and he needed the money. My aunt wasn’t well.”

Nathan couldn’t say what he was really thinking. His years as a cop helped him rein in his temper and he calmly said, “So, what happened with Evelyn?”

“Your mom, I mean Evelyn, and your father came here to have their baby. It was their first baby, and Evelyn was so happy. I was jealous, I’ll tell you that. She had everything I wanted. And your father loved her. I’ve never seen a man love a woman so much.”

Nathan’s stomach tightened. Thomas Williamson had been a doting husband, it was true. He’d been a good dad, too, but always a little distant. Now Nathan understood why.

“Evelyn’s baby died about twenty minutes after he was born,” Patsy continued. “Evelyn never saw him, but she heard his cry. I had to tell Thomas while my uncle took care of the baby. Thomas went to his knees crying, ‘No, no.’”

The room was silent. It was like there was no air in the room. If not for needing the end of the story, Nathan would have run, run as far as he could, trying to block out the words he was hearing.

“My uncle,” Patsy continued, “made your dad an offer.”

“Me?” Nathan queried.

“You were just two days old and in Gesippi, a short drive away. Everyone knew that Evelyn was pregnant so no one would question her coming home with a baby.”

“You disguised yourself as a nurse?” Nathan said.

“At the very hospital I worked at. I ducked out of surgery, put on a wig and walked you right out of the hospital. I knew all the nooks and crannies. No one suspected.”

“Until I, forty some years later, donated blood for Nate.” Rafael stood, ending the interrogation. He gestured for his deputy to book Patsy.

* * *

“It’s a heck of a story,” Rafe said, walking them from the police station to Nathan’s car. The sun, a syrupy ball of orange descending in a blue/gray sky, matched their mood.

“A moment in time,” Nathan said. “If Patsy hadn’t told Thomas Williamson that she knew of a baby, then I wouldn’t have been taken.”

“A moment in time,” Rafe agreed.

“And Evelyn knew?” Agatha asked.

“I don’t think so. She was probably heavily drugged,” said Shainey. “By the way, what will happen to Patsy?”

“Josie’s talking to her lawyer,” Rafe answered. “I’ll do my best to make sure she’s not exploited by the press like we were.”

“Thanks,” Nathan said.

“You can thank me next week when you come home for Thanksgiving. I’m thinking I should tell mom to set the table for two more besides you?”

Nathan looked at Shainey. “Can you and Agatha handle the whole Salazar family?”

“The whole family at last.” Shainey nodded. “I can hardly wait.”

The two men shook hands.

“Rafe’s a pretty good guy,” Shainey said as he walked away.

“Yes, he is,” Nathan agreed, helping her into the truck. “I’m looking forward to getting to know him.”

“Me, too,” Shainey said.

“Really?” Nathan said, his tone teasing. “You want to get to know my brother?”

“And your mother, and your sister-in-law, and your next boss.”

“My next boss?”

“Sure,” Shainey said, “now that you’ve figured out what happened, you’ll be ready to move on, to get a real job. And it better be real close by, because I’ve decided to move to Gesippi for good. I’m hoping Doc Thomas will let me buy his practice.”

A few minutes later, they were inside Agatha’s house.

“I’ve got history here,” Nathan said slowly. “It might not be the best—

“Both good and bad history,” Agatha interrupted. Nathan hadn’t even heard her come in the kitchen. She sat at the table, looked him straight in the eve, and advised, “Keep the good and work through the bad. It will make you stronger.”

“What’s even better,” Shainey said, “is making history.”

“Together?” Nathan said slowly.

“Together,” Shainey quickly agreed.

“Wait a minute,” Agatha suddenly interrupted, “just how long have you two known each other?”

“Don’t worry, Aunt Agatha,” Shainey soothed. “Our attempt at making history is going on a first date that doesn’t involve getting stitches, making you cry, reading through old newspaper articles, chasing down baby snatchers—-”

Agatha held up her hand for them to stop. “It’s a start,” Agatha said. “At least you two should never run out of things to talk about.”

It was true. Shainey had a feeling that she’d never be alone during her new life in Gesippi. She and Nathan already had a history of doing things together.

And, really, she’d already decided.

The End

* * * * *

If you enjoyed Heart of a Hero, don’t miss Pamela Tracy’s emotional and compelling romance, The Missing Twin. Available from Harlequin Heartwarming in paperback and digitally for order online at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

Sloppy Joes by Pamela Tracy

I don’t cook. LOL.

I really don’t cook.

Don’t laugh.

Here goes.

Ingredients

2 pounds ground beef, thawed if frozen.

1 can Manwich Original Sloppy Joe Sauce

⅔ of a small can of tomato paste

⅓ cup of ketchup

½ small white onion, diced (optional)

Seasoned salt

Directions

1. Turn burner to medium heat and brown ground beef in a large skillet approximately five minutes. Drain and return to stove.

2. Stir in 1 can of Manwich Original Sloppy Joe Sauce. Add tomato paste, ketchup and onion, if using. Add about 6 shakes of seasoned salt.

3. Continue with medium heat, stir and heat until bubbles form.

4. Taste with spoon. Maybe add more onions or seasoned salt.

Thankful for You

By Karen Rock

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Recipe: Dinner Rolls

CHAPTER ONE

Eric Langley shoved through the dense smoke of a disintegrating foster home, his breath harsh inside his helmet. Two children still missing.

Where were they?

A flaming section of ceiling crashed to his left and he ducked, his pulse throbbing in his neck. He ignored his screeching headset and the blistering, acrid air.

Dean, a newbie in Eric’s fire company, jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Back out! Back out!”

“No. We’ll find them!” Eric hollered.

“CHAOS. Chief’s pulling the hook!” Dean nodded at the retreating pipemen who hauled back the line.

“I’m making the grab.”

Eric ignored Dean’s shout and sprinted upstairs. The metal banister twisted beneath his gloved hand. Taking the steps two at a time, he felt his air tank thudding against his back, solid and reassuring. How much did he have left?

As if on cue, his SCBA shrieked. Eric swore. 20% oxygen and his world engulfed in smoke and flames. He silenced the pinging alarm and leapt off the crumbling staircase onto the second floor.

No going back now.

Grey ash swirled and visibility lurked near zero. A door bulged to his right. Electricity jittered through him. Just as he dove past, it exploded into the hall, an incinerating fireball.

He shoved to his feet, running. “Taylor! Hannah!” he hollered above the fire’s roar, using the names a hysterical staff member had shared. He squinted down the hallway. Marked doorways swam into focus. What had they missed?

Then Eric spotted it.

A half door just above the baseboard, nearly obscured by the large sideboard rising above it.

A crawl space? Could a kid fit in there?

A desperate one?

Heck, yeah.

Adrenalin surged. Scraping his ax against the wall to keep his bearings, he stumbled to a halt beside the set of drawers. His brain listed inside his skull, spots appeared on the edge of his vision. Grabbing the spindle legs, he squatted and peered at the small door.

“Hannah! Taylor!” he shouted.

“Here,” was followed by a faint gasp.

“I’m Lt. Langley. I’m going to save you.”

Crying erupted and he swallowed, his throat burning as though someone had poured acid down it.

Wrenching open the door, he groped through the dark and touched a small hand. A pair of green eyes blinked up at him. A girl. Ten or so. “Don’t be scared, Hannah.”

“I’m not scared,” she said, nodding over her shoulder. “Taylor’s the one who’s crying.”

Eric bowed his head. Relieved. “You’re together. Good. Now listen. When I pull you out, cover your nose with your shirt and stay close until I grab Taylor, too.”

“I won’t leave him,” came her furious voice. “Why do you think I’m still here?”

Fair enough.

Brave girl.

Beams whined overhead and plunged. One careened into the opposite wall in a shower of sparks. Eric doggedly kept his focus. They would make it out. Alive.

When he reached for Hannah’s hands, she jerked back. “NO! Get Taylor first.”

A small boy appeared, his eyes wide with fright.

“Taylor?”

At his name, the boy nodded and his mouth trembled. Tears streaked his grimy cheeks.

“Give me your hands, bud.”

Eric gently freed the pre-school aged child. Hannah joined them, coughing.

Eric considered his options. Any of the rooms had windows, but what condition were they in? They might enter and never come out.

As for the staircase, there wasn’t a chance it still stood.

Come on, think.

“Is there another way out of here?” His voice sounded as strangled as he felt.

“The back stairs to the kitchen.” Hannah pointed to a distant, empty doorway. It looked dark and full of smoke…but no flames.

They had a chance. One he couldn’t afford to waste.

Go time.

“Hannah. Hold on to my jacket.” He swung Taylor into his arms. “Don’t let go, bud. And breathe through your shirt.”

In a flash, they sped down the stairs and burst out into the night.

EMTs grabbed the kids and Eric crashed to his knees and ripped off his helmet. He pressed his burning cheek to the light snow that’d fallen this morning.

“Lieutenant? Can you hear me?”

Eric looked up at another medic and the last of his breath caught in his throat; he couldn’t speak. After some water and oxygen, he refused a ride to the hospital and joined the chief.

“What’s your problem, Langley?” his boss growled.

Eric straightened his spine. “Saving lives, sir. Guess it’s become a habit.”

Chief Redmond blew out a breath and his irritated expression eased. “Runs in the family, too. Your father would be proud.”

Eric’s last memory of his confident father roared to life. That final wave goodbye across a little league field when he’d been called to an “all hands” fire. Eric’s team won the game, but he’d lost his dad that day. It was an unhealed wound that still burned, driving Eric and his brothers, Arizona Hotshot firefighters Ethan and Evan, to take risks. Continue the distinguished, generations-old Langley firefighter legacy.

Eric ducked his head. “Thank you, sir.”

The chief’s bushy eyebrows knitted together beneath his hat brim. “But I’m temporarily suspending you for ignoring a direct order.”

“But sir—”

His boss swatted his protest aside. “We both know you’re lucky that’s all I’m doing. Plus, I’ve got another job for you.”

Eric couldn’t help being suspicious. Chief Redmond loved thinking up unorthodox ways to torture his underlings.

“All ears, sir.” Despite the heat blazing off the collapsing building, Eric gritted chattering teeth. The late November Adirondack air had a bone deep bite.

“Thanksgiving’s in three days and I want the fire department to host a meal for the kids.”

Eric nodded. “Sounds good.”

“And I’m putting you in charge. Reach out to local restaurant owners. Get whatever help you need. Make this the best holiday these kids ever had.”

They certainly deserved it.

Eric’s thoughts flashed to the one person who could help put on such a large event, the same woman he’d avoided these past six months. The woman he couldn’t forget.

Should he call her?

He looked at the chief’s firm expression.

Orders were orders, even the kind that actually terrified him.

* * *

“What a shame.”

“Those poor kids.”

“And it’s Thanksgiving.”

Maggie James listened to her customers as she bustled around the packed diner she co-owned with her best friend, Vivie Harris. The Homestead buzzed with news of yesterday’s heartrending fire and planned charity drives.

On the tip of everyone’s tongue: Eric Langley; hero.

At her disgusted exclamation, a road crew stopped jabbering about Eric and shot her speculative looks. Her cheeks warmed. She refilled their water glasses and strode away, head high, imagining the conversation erupting behind her back.

“Didn’t she and Eric used to…”

“Seemed serious.”

“Haven’t seen `em together in months.”

Yep. She hadn’t seen her ex in six months, actually, and wished she didn’t have to hear his name either…over and over… She shoved a curl under her bandana and tightened the knot at the nape of her neck. Maybe her lipstick could use freshening.

Life always looked brighter after a touch-up.

And she needed a break. Her thoughts spun so hard they made her dizzy.

How could a guy who risked his life saving kids never want his own? It’d been the sticking point that’d halted their two-year relationship and ended her only real love.

“I’m going in the back office for a sec, Vivie.”

The bell above the front door jingled.

“Holy…” Rowdy, their short order cook, muttered. He leaned on the through ledge and stared over Maggie’s shoulder.

The noisy customers muted themselves and Maggie stiffened. When she met Vivie’s wide eyes, she read everything in her best friend’s horrified expression.

Eric.

Had to be.

CHAPTER TWO

Maggie felt the eyes of the entire restaurant boring into her back.

She inhaled sharply and lifted her chin. What would her idol, Katharine Hepburn, do? What would she say? Something witty. Sarcastic. Flippant.

None of which Maggie felt at the moment.

She shoved her shoulders back and pasted on a carefree smile before turning. No way would Eric see the girl who still cried during black and white romance movies, imagining what might have been.

“Eric.”

And there he stood. Nearly as tall as her doorway. Wide shoulders filling out a tan Carhartt jacket. Faded jeans low on slim hips, hands shoved in his pockets. He rocked back and forth in his work boots. A muscle jumped in his square jaw.

A couple of state troopers crowded over and slapped him on the back. Pumped his hand. Despite all the congratulations, Eric’s eyes never left hers. And she couldn’t stop looking at him, either. At his kind brown eyes, at the shape of him, familiar to her very bones. She’d forgotten the utter joy just looking at him used to bring her.

And now he’d come back. Why?

“Excuse me,” she heard him murmur. Then, in a few long strides, he reached her.

“Hi, Maggie.” His dark eyebrows angled up. “Can we go somewhere? Talk?”

Maggie’s insides turned briefly to water. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out. What did they have to speak about? Could she even speak? Apparently not, so she nodded instead, trying to look unconcerned. Unruffled. Just like the gutsy glamour gals she’d grown up watching with her grandmother. Cool as a cucumber.

Yeah. Right.

She’d hidden her misery when they’d agreed to split and wouldn’t let Eric see it now. Or her patrons. A low muttering circled the room. Rowdy growled somewhere over her shoulder.

Eric stared at her. “Where?” he prompted. Gently. The way you’d speak to a spooked horse. Was she the spooked horse?!

Like heck.

“Here’s fine.” She lifted a desert slicer. “Would you like some pie? We’re running a special on Humble—”

He caught her elbow and angled his body, shielding them from their avid audience. “Alone.”

“I’ve heard more tempting offers.” She jerked her arm free. “Why just the other day, the IRS—”

“Enough, Maggie,” Eric growled. “It’s important.”

“Fine.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, hoping it bounced the way plucky heroines managed. Not the kinds with broken hearts like her. “Follow me. Though, FYI, I’m not at my friendliest in the morning.”

“Tell me about it. And it’s 12:30,” he grumbled, his arm brushing hers as they strode behind the register to the back hall.

She snuck a glance at his strong profile and something electric jolted through her. “I make exceptions for people I don’t like.”

“Lucky me,” he drawled and the left side of his mouth lifted.

He gestured for her to precede him at the office door. As she swept by, she breathed in the tangy, citrus aftershave she’d always loved. His clean male scent made her a little giddy.

Oh. My.

She needed a clear head to deal with Eric.

Once she was seated behind her desk, her throat loosened, as did her lips.

“Why are you here, Eric?”

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I have a proposition.”

She twisted sweaty hands in her lap. What could he say that she’d ever, in a million years, agree to?

“You should have read the sign at the door. No solicitors.”

“Mags…”

She shoved to her feet and clutched the edge of her desk. “Don’t ‘Mags’ me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. Composed. Not crazy. Not still crazy in love with him for goodness sakes. “We agreed you wouldn’t come here again. Am I dreaming? You look so real.” She pinched herself.

He frowned. “Still here. And I wouldn’t be, except this is important.” His nostrils flared above full lips. For a moment she imagined them on hers. Tracing her jaw. Nibbling her ears… The way he laughed against her throat. Made her tremble.

Stop staring, she warned herself, ignoring the spike of warmth in her gut. “You have ten seconds.”

His brown eyes delved into hers and her traitorous heart flipped the way it always had. She should have given him five seconds.

“The fire department is hosting Thanksgiving for the foster kids. I’m in charge and need local help.”

“So I’m the ‘local help’?”

The tips of his ears, visible below the clipped edge of his thick brown hair, reddened. “You know you’re more than that,” he said, voice deepening. His eyes rested on hers just a moment too long.

Maggie coughed, realizing she had stopped breathing.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t—” She gestured between them, her pulse speeding. “Do that. Us.”

His lips firmed and he nodded briskly. “Right. And my ten seconds are up. So, will you help? Please?”

She stared into his handsome face and her rejection withered on her lips.

“Yes,” she said at last, heavily.

It was for the children, and she’d planned to help with Thanksgiving anyway.

Just not beside the man who’d stomped her flat.

“Thank you.” He pulled on a baseball hat. “So where do we start?”

“Shopping. Tomorrow.”

He grimaced. “Torture. Pick you up at nine?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I think you already made it.” He shot her a cocky grin, tipped his cap and disappeared through the door.

After he left, she stared at the vacant doorway, her heart swooping low in her chest.

She’d spent months learning to forget Eric. Slogged through weeks, convincing herself she didn’t need him. And now, all her hard work, undone in five minutes.

How would she get through the holiday with him by her side?

She dropped her aching head in her hands.

Katharine Hepburn’s words about life being hard echoed in Cassie’s ear. As her idol quipped, eventually, it kills you.

True enough. And working with Eric might finish off the last of her tattered heart.

* * *

Eric pushed an overflowing cart down one of the discount supercenter’s aisles. He and Maggie had been at this for an hour and a half. Could he call time? Who spent this long shopping without going insane? And how were pumpkin pack and pumpkin pie pack different?! He tugged at his thermal shirt’s collar. Ignored the insistent voice telling him to run.

He’d promised the chief he’d put on a great holiday for the kids.

And Maggie… Since seeing her yesterday, she’d occupied his thoughts. He needed to avoid her but couldn’t resist this time together. Although he’d shut away his pain when they’d broken up, his old feelings rushed back after one glimpse of her beautiful face.

“Lightning sale on holiday table cloths. Aisle ten,” crackled the overhead speaker.

Maggie jolted to a stop. “Let’s go!” Her face glowed under the dim fluorescent light as she wheeled around and gestured. Wispy curls sprang around her face. The rest of her deep auburn hair swung from a ponytail. She tugged the weighty cart’s end and he lunged for a wobbling, toaster-sized carton of bread cubes.

“Where’s the fire?”

She shot him a sidelong glance as they pivoted the screeching cart. “Maybe you should find one. I don’t need help.”

He dragged his gaze off her cherry-red mouth. Her mobile face fascinated him as did that sharp, clever mind and the sassy come-backs that kept him on his toes.

“Maggie. I know neither of us wants to work together.” He shifted his eyes from her penetrating stare, sure she’d see right through his lie. “But let’s call a truce.”

He watched some brief, internal struggle before she blew out a long breath. “It is the holidays.” The animosity lurking in the corners of her eyes retreated.

“And a good cause,” he said.

“For the children.”

“And you need me.”

“Hah!” Her right eyebrow arched. “Now you’re pushing it.”

He forced a nonchalant shrug. Searched for a lighter tone. “Who’s going to make sure you grab the unsalted butter instead of the salted?” Her mouth pursed. “Remind you to get both heavy cream and whipped cream? Oh, and half-n-half. And,” he paused, enjoying the sparks shooting from her eyes, “Explain why onion salt is completely different than buying salt and onion powder, separately. Big catastrophes.” He gestured wide. “Huge.”

The corners of her lips hooked up, though her pinched expression stayed put. “You might have a future in personal shopping.”

“I hope not,” he said and sighed, enjoying their banter too much for comfort.

Her polka-dot skirt swung around long legs as she trotted ahead, leaving a dewy fresh smell in her wake.

Did he still love her?

He stifled the answer that came in a rush. Better not to know. After watching his vibrant mother retreat from life following his father’s death, he’d vowed never to inflict that pain on anyone, especially Maggie. When she’d begun talking kids, marriage, it’d nearly killed him to break things off. But how could he take the risks his job required, if he worried about a family counting on his safety?

They stopped in front of a display of paper table cloths.

Their hands brushed when they reached for the same one and his fingers burned at the contact. She was so soft. Skin like silk and cream. The need to hold her again whipped through him. Hit the pedal on his racing pulse. Suddenly his arms felt empty and he grabbed another cloth.

“This one!” they announced at the same time.

“Turkeys don’t dance,” he observed, nodding at her pick.

She huffed and scrunched her nose adorably. “Hello? Yours has Santas wearing pilgrim hats.”

He stared at the plastic package crinkling in his hand and laughed. “What were they thinking when they made this?”

Her expression relaxed and she chuckled, the sound setting off familiar fireworks in his chest. “It’s more like what were they drinking? These are all terrible.”

“There’s something to be said for the understated option.” He gestured to the plain white coverings farther down the aisle.

Maggie twisted her rose pendant then snapped her fingers. When she turned, her grin stole his breath. “Let’s have the foster kids decorate them. It’ll take their minds off everything.”

He nodded slowly. Though what would keep him from thinking of Maggie?

CHAPTER THREE

“Five turkeys?”

Ice water overflowed a bucket as Maggie dropped the last bird in its brining solution and covered it. “Not enough?”

Eric shot her a surprised look from the other side of the screened-in porch behind The Homestead. Outside, a light frost still covered the ground, glittering amongst shifting piles of brown leaves.

“Too much. How many people are we talking? Fifty?” White puffs of air emerged with each word.

She shoved frozen fingers into her wool coat pockets. “Plus the fire department.”

“They’re the waiters.”

The early afternoon sun emerged from heavy cloud cover and shone on the last blazing maple to hold its leaves. In the distance, geese honked.

“Right. None of those big guys will be hungry after hours of work.” She slapped her forehead with the heel of her palm. “What was I thinking?”

At Eric’s deep chuckle, her heart thumped erratically. Stop it, she warned herself for the millionth time today…and yesterday.

Dimples dented his cheeks and his brown eyes twinkled, warm as chocolate. “We’ll make them eat the leftover Jell-O salad,” he said.

“Your favorite was lime, right?”

When he stepped close, her breath caught in her throat. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Lingered. “I was always partial to cherry.”

She licked her lips, nervous at his proximity. Excited, too. If she stood on tiptoe, and he lifted her a bit like he used to, she could kiss him.

And did she want to kiss him.

When he traced the side of her face, she shivered, awareness fox-trotting up her spine.

“You haven’t changed, Maggie.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Despite herself, her answer came out breathy. Shaky. Another inch closer and she’d be in his strong arms again.

“Isn’t it?” He dropped his hand and stared at her with that confident, trust me expression that reassured those he rescued but set off every one of her alarm bells.

“Wasn’t it six months ago that you decided I wasn’t wife material? Not suited to be the mother of your children?”

He tilted his head toward her, his voice low. “I don’t want children.”

“Or a wife.” In the hush, she could hear her heart thumping.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t want you.”

Her skin burned where his gaze landed on it. “I’m a package deal. Wife. Mother. That’s me. Or will be. Someday.” She’d grown up vowing to have the traditional, nuclear family her loving parents provided.

Eric’s eyebrows crashed together and faint lines appeared around his mouth. “With whom? Are you seeing someone?”

“Maybe…” When she pivoted, he gripped her upper arm.

“Is it serious?” he asked, his words rapid fire.

“Why do you care?” She stared at his hand until he let go, wishing she hadn’t lied in the first place.

A strangled sound escaped him. “It shouldn’t.”

“But…” she prompted, knowing she was playing with fire but unable to stop.

A cloud passed over his face and a small tic began in his jaw. He stared at a distant spot over her shoulder. “Forget it.”

“Right. And I’m not seeing anyone.” She forced a nonchalant tone. What would Hepburn do?

Put on an awesome hat for starters…

She yanked on the rainbow-colored wool hat that’d been her disastrous first knitting project. The epitome of sophistication to be sure… At least it partially covered her burning cheeks.

When her fingers bumbled on the strings, he brushed them aside and tied a knot below her chin, his touch lingering.

“What are we doing, Eric?”

“Planning a Thanksgiving dinner,” he murmured, his voice growing rough. She could feel his gaze run over her cheekbones, her neck, her mouth. He tipped her chin up and it felt as though his eyes reached right through hers, down deep to her heart.

“We should get back to it,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.

“Yes.” He lowered his lips to a breath above hers. She felt electrified, as if each part of her were fizzing, transparent. “Yes, we should.”

She barely heard him. Her thoughts blurred, her senses narrowing to his proximity, the heat that seemed to radiate from him. She drew his face closer and the world evaporated around them.

She felt the rasp of his bristles under her palms, the warmth of his breath on her skin. His eyes studied her own, so seriously, a question in them. It felt as if he had only just seen her again and the past couple of days, circling each other like strangers, evaporated.

When she leaned forward, just a few inches, her lungs stilled, and she placed her lips on his. His hands came to rest on her waist and tightened reflexively. Then their mouths met, and she inhaled his breath, its traces of cinnamon and maple from breakfast.

Her eyes closed, her body sparked and shuddered. He dragged off her hat and his hands tangled in her hair, his mouth dropping to linger where her neck met her shoulder. Her lungs burned, unable to get enough oxygen. Customers out in the front parking lot burst into noisy laughter, and as leaves flew in the autumn breeze, something in her altered forever. Or changed back…

“I could kiss you every day of my life,” he murmured into her skin. “Hold you.”

“So why don’t you?”

He stroked her back. “I would if you let me.”

“I would if you saw a real future together.”

His tender expression faded and his hands stilled. “Why does that have to include a ring? Children?”

Anger rose. Regret fast on its heels. Why had she kissed him? When she spoke, her voice was thick, tremulous. “Because that’s what people do when they’re really in love.”

“Not all people.”

She tore herself away and leaned against the back wall. “Well, this one does.”

He averted his eyes and clenched his jaw. It made her want to run to him. Tell him she could compromise…but she couldn’t.

“That’s it, then,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“Right.” She yanked on her hat, pulling the brim low. “Now we’ve got that out of our system, we can focus on the dinner. We’ll just chalk it up to being caught up in the moment.”

He nodded slowly, tossed the salt containers in the trash and turned. “Soaking turkeys will do that to you every time.”

Despite herself, her mouth quirked. “Their rubbery flesh.”

“The slime.”

“It’s a real turn-on.”

His faint smile jacked up her heart rate. “How could we help ourselves?”

“Exactly. So, I’ll see you later, at the table cloth painting?”

He nodded. “I’m heading over to pick up the kids now. And don’t come near me with the giblets.” He winked then turned, speaking over his shoulder. “I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

She laughed to herself and stared at the porch door long after it’d closed behind him.

How could she act responsibly around him? Exes didn’t kiss. Or shouldn’t. She knew better.

Yet Katharine Hepburn once said that you couldn’t have fun without breaking the rules.

And it’d been a long time since she’d felt happy like this. Did she dare indulge in a no-strings flirtation with Eric while they worked together?

Everyone deserved a little love during the holidays, didn’t they? Just not the heartbreak sure to follow…

* * *

“That’s a nice, ah, pumpkin, Taylor.” Eric peered over the boy’s shoulder at the white table cloth stretched over the diner’s counter. Newspapers shifted underfoot, catching the drips as foster kids jostled each other and painted the tablecloths.

He couldn’t get over how unfazed they seemed. Despite suffering a huge loss, they argued and joked, concentrated and acted out as if their world hadn’t just burned to the ground.

Kids were much more resilient than he gave them credit for. When his mom had checked out, he and his brothers had each other. But these children held it together without any parents or siblings… Maybe he needed to adjust his thinking about their coping abilities.

“It’s a fire engine,” Hannah snapped. “Sheesh.” In her plaid shirt and loose jeans, she looked as tough as she acted.

“Right. I see it now.”

Hannah snorted. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

She balled her hands into fists and propped them on her hips. “Then where’s the ladder?”

“Umm…” Was it that brown, blobby bit?

“Psst.” Taylor cupped his hand to hide his finger from Hannah and pointed at a black streak. His large brown eyes glimmered beneath a white-blonde buzz cut.

“There it is!” Eric traced the streak triumphantly, playing along. “A ladder.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Hannah’s small mouth turned down in disapproval.

“My dad used to say that.”

“Is your dad a fireman, too?” Taylor asked.

“He was, but he died when I was very little. Hannah’s age.”

He waited for the usual sympathetic noises but heard only the slap of more paint hitting the table cloth.

“Well. At least you had a dad,” Hannah observed, her tone off-hand, as she applied black rungs to Taylor’s “ladder.”

“My mom says I don’t have one,” Taylor piped up.

“Me neither,” Hannah put in, her round cheeks puffed out farther. “Did your father ever say ‘I love you’? Sometimes I pretend I have a dad who says that.”

Eric nodded, a lump forming in his throat.

“Did he read you stories?”

Taylor jumped, splatting Eric with red paint. “I love Peter Pan.”

Eric nodded again, unable to speak. It was as if his tongue had swollen, filling the entire space within his mouth.

“Buy you ice cream?”

Taylor clutched the brush to his chest. “No one ever played catch with me. Did your dad do that?”

The backs of Eric’s eyes pricked. Yes. His father had done all that and more. “Yeah. He did.”

Hannah sighed and her shoulders drooped. “Then you’re lucky. At least somebody wanted you.”

Eric’s mouth fell open and he dragged in a quick breath. Lucky? He’d never thought of it that way, but they were right. By focusing on his father’s death, Eric had lost track of the difference his father’s life had made.

Maybe that was the real tragedy.

What if Eric’s father had decided never to have kids? A much greater loss, he saw now. Maybe he was wrong to rule out a family. A wife.

“Who wants cider?” Maggie called out. She emerged from the kitchen, a gallon jug swinging from each hand. In slim black pants, ballet flats and a white dress shirt tied at the waist, she resembled that movie star she always used to make him watch. Katherine something or other. Her idol, she’d said.

Only Maggie was much more beautiful. Vibrant. Colorful, from her hair to her bright lips. She glowed from within and drew his eye, like a brilliant gemstone catching the light.

He’d ruled out marrying for so long, but now he wondered. Was Maggie strong enough to manage if the worst happened or would she fall apart as his mother had?

CHAPTER FOUR

Maggie’s car fishtailed to a stop in front of the fire station. A steady drizzle—rain mixed with sleet—was tapping on her roof and windshield and, the instant she snapped off her defroster, it coated the glass.

She pulled up her jacket’s fleece hood then ducked outside. Cold blasted her face as she slid, shivering, across the skating rink of a parking lot to yank open the door.

Nasty, awful weather. Fall to winter…always unpredictable in the North Country.

Under the large overhead lights, two fire trucks gleamed. The smell of diesel and polished metal stung her nose. She heard muted voices overhead. Gripping a large bag of fresh cider donuts, she clomped up the steps. Boisterous men playing cards around a large table quieted when she emerged.

“Maggie James!” boomed the flushed fire chief before he fanned out what looked like a straight. The other men groaned and tossed their cards on the discard pile. “What brings you out this evening?”

Her eyes flashed to Eric, who watched her from the end of the table. His gaze was direct and steady, his expression inscrutable. Was he happy to see her? Palms sweating, she handed over the deserts to a new guy she didn’t recognize.

“Vivie and I wanted to thank you for serving the kids tomorrow.”

“Kind of you,” the chief mumbled around the half donut he’d already shoved in his mouth. “Though no thanks are necessary. We’re all in this together.”

The rest of the firemen chewed and nodded.

“Still. It’s nice of you to leave your families.”

“This is our other family,” one of the veterans said, chortling. “Plus, gives us an excuse to have two meals.”

Exclamations of agreement erupted. Maggie’s gaze swerved to a silent Eric. This must be how he felt. The only family he wanted.

Though he’d said he wanted her, too…

Was that enough?

In the past, she would have said no, but after their kiss, she couldn’t shake the sense of rightness. The feeling of coming home. Was she doomed to care about the one man who was every kind of wrong for her? And how adorable had he been with the kids today?

“Here. Take my seat.” The new guy pulled out a chair. Sandy blonde hair sprang at odd angles around his handsome face, as if he’d just pulled off his helmet.

“No. I’ve got to drive out to the VFW hall. I forgot to give the kids their pilgrim hat materials.”

“Well at least warm up first,” the chief urged. “Dean here’s turned out to be quite the cook. Have a cup of chili.”

“Really. I should be—” But before she could finish, Dean shoved a steaming mug in her hand. His fingers lingered over hers. For an embarrassing moment, he simply stared at her, his smile widening.

Maggie studied the perfect symmetry of his features, his finely shaped nose, his height and strong build. Everything about him should attract her but didn’t. He lacked one thing… He wasn’t Eric.

“Are you going to spoon feed it to her, too?” Eric growled. At his thunderous expression, Dean stepped back and looked between the two of them. The rest of the crew burst out laughing.

“And what if I do?” Dean asked, his jaw jutting out. “Though I’d rather take her to dinner.” He turned and his blue eyes twinkled in a way that probably made lots of girls swoon. Just not her. “How about this weekend?”

“I—I—” she stalled, realizing it’d be stupid to turn down the first date she’d had in months. And with a gorgeous man.

Was she crazy?

She slid a sidelong glance at a narrow-eyed Eric.

No. She was just a girl head over heels in love. Six months hadn’t changed her feelings for him. Dating another guy wouldn’t help, either. She’d been wrong to let Eric go. A family alone couldn’t make her happy, or a ring. Maybe what she really wanted—needed most—was just him. Working with the foster kids proved there were other ways they could have children in their lives.

Would it be enough?

“Not happening, buddy.” Eric’s chair scraped back and he reached Maggie in a couple strides. He placed his hand on the small of her back, warm and firm.

Some of the firefighters quieted and a few whistled, the air suddenly electric as the men eyed each other.

“I’ll drive you to the VFW,” he said. “Dean and one of the other guys will bring your car back to the diner. I don’t want you out on those roads.”

She nodded and Eric gripped her hand as he pulled her down the stairs. Inside his truck, he started up the engine and turned, shadows pooling under the masculine angles of his face.

“All set?” he asked after she buckled up.

“Yes.” She nodded firmly, despite the frightening weather and the unknown path ahead of them. She trusted him. Believed in them.

One thing she knew for sure: she was miserable without Eric.

Better to have him in her life in any way possible.

Starting tonight.

* * *

“Oh, the kids will love these!” One of the foster home counselors gasped when Eric handed her Maggie’s box of pilgrim hat-shaped cutouts and other craft materials.

“I wanted the kids to make them at the diner, but the table cloth painting went too long. Then I forgot to give these to you so…” When Maggie trailed off, Eric followed her gaze to a dimly lit room where children listened to a woman reading a story.

At the wistful expression on Maggie’s face, Eric’s chest tightened. She loved kids. Had he been wrong to deny her a family? Separate himself from the only woman he’d ever loved?

And Dean.

The idiot.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let that guy, or any guy, date Maggie. He couldn’t catch his breath. How could he convince her to give their relationship another shot?

“Story time’s nearly over. Would you like to sit in the back and give them the materials for the hats when this activity’s done?” the counselor asked.

“I’d love to, but Eric drove me and—”

“I’d like to stay,” he cut in, earning a wide-eyed glance from Maggie.

“Great. Go on in.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Maggie whispered as they tiptoed inside the darkened room.

He reached out slowly, enfolding her hand in his. “I want to be here,” he murmured and led her to a spot behind the rapt children.

They sat in a couple of chairs, their fingers entwined. Her proximity sent his thoughts scrambling. When he breathed in her fresh scent, his chest rose and fell, as if he could take all of her in. Soul deep. Where she belonged.

“Why?” she asked without turning. In the gloom, he could make out her delicate profile and the slight tremble of her bottom lip. His pulse throbbed in his temple as he recalled the taste of her mouth on his.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

After a long gut check of a pause, where the storyteller droned on and Eric listened to his drumming heart, she said, “I don’t want to leave you, either. Ever.”

There were tears on her cheeks and he brushed them away with his thumbs. His heart ached when she turned to him, her expression open and vulnerable. Gone was the brittle veneer she’d worn around him the past two days. Instead, she looked fragile and he knew, down to his marrow, that he’d never break her heart again.

He took her face in his hands. “I should have never let you go.”

She turned her cheek in his palm and pressed a kiss to its center. “We let each other go.”

“Big mistake.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she grinned faintly. “Huge.”

Unable to resist, he pulled her up, out of her seat and into a smaller room in the back. With the door shut, he cupped the back of Maggie’s head and kissed her, kissed her tears away, his lips urgent against her soft skin, promising a future. He kissed her until they were both smiling and she swayed slightly in his arms.

“I can’t feel the bottoms of my feet.”

“Then I’ve done my job.” He grinned, barely able to hear himself over the blood thundering in his ears.

She gave him a cheeky salute. “Lieutenant Langley reporting for duty.”

“I live to serve my country…and you.”

Suddenly she sobered. “I want us to be together, Eric. However that is. All of those other things I thought were important… Well, they don’t mean as much as you do.”

His breath caught. Was she saying she’d give up marriage and kids for him? Deep down he knew it was too much of a sacrifice. On the other hand, was he ready to make a real commitment for her sake? His head buzzed.

“I feel the same way.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “These past six months were the loneliest of my life. I don’t want to be apart again.”

“So you’re saying…” Hope lit a match in her eyes. Made them flare and glow.

He trailed a finger along her silky cheek. “We’ll find a way to make this work. For both of us. You mean everything to me, Maggie.”

Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his and his cell phone chirped. A nature ringtone he’d programmed to alert him when his volunteer search and rescue team called.

He swore under his breath and snatched his phone from his pocket. Holding up a finger, he turned.

“Langley.”

“We’ve got a missing hiker on Whiteface,” Mitch said. He was the owner of a local rock and ice climbing business.

“How long has he been gone?”

“Ten hours.”

Eric’s hand tightened around the cell. “I’ll meet you in fifteen.”

He punched off the call and turned to a pale-faced Maggie.

“What’s going on?”

“Lost hiker. I’ll drop you at the diner on my way to Whiteface.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry, Maggie.” He stepped closer and brushed a kiss over her mouth.

“To be continued?” she murmured and threw her arms around his neck.

He pulled her close and spoke against her temple. “To be continued,” he vowed.

CHAPTER FIVE

A tinkling sound woke Maggie. Cold air curled over her skin when she threw off her quilt. Had the furnace shut off? And what time was it? She glanced at her alarm clock. Its face stared back at her blankly. With the cord still in the wall, it meant one thing: power outage.

Maggie groaned and padded to her window. Outside, crystallized water coated every surface and turned the world into an ice-sculpture of itself.

Last night’s storm must have knocked out the power, but the sun shone and the worst seemed over, thank goodness. Hopefully the roads would be passable later on. Maggie bit her lip. The foster kids deserved this dinner and she’d make it happen, even if she had to cook over an open fire.

Had Rowdy bought gasoline last month for the back-up generator?

An engine sputtered then revved, choking until it caught.

Yes.

She could always count on Rowdy.

And Eric.

She hurried to dress, her thoughts on their interrupted conversation. Her insides danced with excitement as she imagined ending the day together, planning a future, never being without him again…

But shouldn’t his pickup be here? She’d only seen Rowdy’s plough truck in the parking lot. Had Eric’s team recovered the hiker before the worst of the storm? If not, they would have called off the search but resumed it at daylight.

She snatched up her cell and frowned. The battery was dead. Maybe the landline still worked? A moment later she returned the silent handset to its cradle and sighed. She’d have to be patient. In the meantime, she had to get Thanksgiving started.

Maggie tromped downstairs, cell phone and a battery-operated charger in hand. Her breath frosted in the air as she called to Rowdy. A moment later, he appeared through the porch’s storm door.

“That’s one mother of a storm,” he grumbled, pulling off gloves that reeked of gasoline. “Generator’s up.”

She tied on an apron. “So we can cook?”

His mouth twisted below a horseshoe mustache. “Power went out around four hours ago, so the food’s still good. Might have enough juice for the turkeys.”

“And we made the stuffing yesterday.”

“And the butternut squash.”

“And the mashed potatoes. We’ll put them in coolers on the porch to keep them from spoiling,” she added and breathed easier. Okay. They would manage, even if she couldn’t reheat in the microwave as planned. Good thing they’d brought in the brined turkeys last night as a precaution.

“The oven takes four thousand watts so we can’t run the furnace, too,” Rowdy grumbled.

She thought fast. “What about the wood stove?”

Rowdy considered that for a moment and nodded. “We’ve got a couple cords left over from last year. That should keep the restaurant warm.”

“And the ovens will heat the kitchen.”

“Just about.”

“Have you seen Eric?”

Rowdy frowned. “Nope.”

She swallowed down a rising ball of fear. He was fine. If he’d headed out to search again, he’d send word.

At a knock on the front door, Maggie’s heart beat like a wild thing. Eric.

But another fireman stood at the entrance, twisting his cap.

“Chief?”

He smoothed his white beard. “Maggie, I—”

“Have you seen Eric?”

He exhaled heavily and she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. When his large hand settled on her shoulder, she flinched. Braced herself.

“Eric didn’t report in last night when we called off the search.”

“You mean…” She couldn’t finish the dangerous thought.

“He’s been out for over twelve hours. We resumed the search at dawn, but in these conditions—”

“No,” she said, stopping whatever bad thing he intended to say. “You’ll find him. Or he’ll find you. Either way, he’s going to come through this.”

Certainty fired every word, fear a silent shadow behind it. But she couldn’t fall apart. She had to hold it together for the kids.

“He’s a tough son-of-a-gun.”

“That he is.”

The chief raised a tired smile. “Keep thinking positively and we’ll send word when we get it. You’re still having the dinner?” He raised a thick eyebrow, white against his florid skin.

She nodded firmly. “Absolutely. We’re not letting the kids down no matter—” her throat tightened and she paused “—no matter what. And when you see Eric, tell him he’s late.”

The chief’s mouth quirked. “You’re one tough cookie.”

It was the highest compliment he could give her. Katharine Hepburn had been tough, too. “Thank you, sir. Happy Thanksgiving.”

He donned his hat and headed out the door, calling, “Happy Thanksgiving” over his shoulder.

When Maggie turned, Rowdy stood in the kitchen doorway, concern creasing his face. “You going to be okay?”

She grabbed one of her kerchiefs, tied back her hair and marched Rowdy’s way.

“Fine,” she said, nearly meaning it. She had to focus on the kids and trust that Eric would come back to her.

* * *

Eric stared at his cell phone’s blank screen and lurched forward on stinging legs. A deep shiver rose from the base of his spine and rattled his teeth. His boots slipped on the bottom of the narrow crevice he’d rappelled down last night to rescue the injured hiker.

Would they make it out alive?

His broken anchor latch, lodged in the rock fifteen feet overhead, mocked him. Beside the prone hiker lay Eric’s radio, shattered when his rope gave way and he fell.

Had his search partner gotten Eric’s SOS before he’d lowered himself for the grab? After twelve hours, the possibility looked grim.

Eric took stock: Remote location. No communication. Inclement weather. Inaccessible escape route. Deteriorating health. A bad situation. One of the worst he’d ever faced.

He’d lost feeling in his hands an hour ago. His legs would give out soon, too. Even if the ice coating the walls melted, he couldn’t climb out. Plus, the hiker, Larry, had a broken leg. At Larry’s moan, Eric squatted, his pulse speeding.

“Hang in there, buddy.”

Larry’s eyelids fluttered then closed again. “Don’t sleep,” Eric said. He struggled to remove his gloves then ripped them off with his teeth. He pressed his shaking forearm to Larry’s burning head.

High temp.

Lack of consciousness.

Blue-tinged skin.

Hypothermia and shock.

Eric peered at the azure sky peeking between the cedar-scented boughs overhead. The weather had improved but his circumstances couldn’t be worse. Larry needed medical attention stat or he’d die.

A scream ripped from Eric’s lungs. The world closed in around him and he strove to control his breathing.

He struck his fingers against his thigh, tried maneuvering them into his gloves and quit. Were they cold? He could hardly tell. Panic stole into his gut. Another violent shudder tore through him.

No.

He had to keep his wits. Walk. Move. Frosty breath ghosted the air as he marched around the dim space. Numbness dulled his toes and he stumbled over loose rocks.

Maggie.

If these were his last thoughts, let them be of her.

Had his text to her gone through? Last night’s sleet had interfered with his signal, dropping his calls to the search and rescue team.

“I’m sorry,” he’d typed when it became obvious he might not make it back. “I was wrong to raise your hopes about a future together. Even if I make it out, this could happen again. I should never have done this to you.”

If she got the message, would she understand?

He pictured his mother, crying for months after his father’s death and then, worse still, her silence as she’d retreated to her bedroom. She’d rarely come out until she’d finally checked herself into a mental rehabilitation facility.

Would Maggie fall apart like that? She was stronger than his mother, but she’d never been tested like this. It killed him to imagine the woman he loved fading away as his mother had.

Worse.

He’d caused it.

He shouldn’t have gotten involved with Maggie again.

Even if a miracle happened—even if he did get out of here—he’d never be the safe family man Maggie deserved. And worrying about her would steal the focus his risky job demanded.

Regret settled hard and cold in his gut. Raising Maggie’s hopes for a committed relationship was dead wrong when he knew, deep down, he’d never be able to leave his job. It was in his blood.

Suddenly, a shout interrupted his thoughts.

Rescue.

His heart leapt then fell. If his future couldn’t include Maggie, it was already too late to save him from the empty life that stretched ahead.

CHAPTER SIX

Ten hours later, the chief drove Eric back from the hospital. Most of the ice had melted and the world glistened in the purpling twilight.

“Surprised they released you that quick.” His boss cranked up the defroster on the fogging windshield.

“I didn’t give them a choice.” He needed to get to Maggie. “How’s Maggie holding up? Not doing too bad?”

Chief Redmond stopped tapping along to country rock music and glanced at him sideways.

“Maggie? She’s doing great.”

“Great?” Surprise stiffened Eric’s joints. “Have you talked to her?”

The chief slapped his knee. “Son, I’m the one that told her you were missing.”

He flinched, imagining the tears. The chief’s inept attempts at comfort. Poor Maggie. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. She took the news like a trooper. Didn’t bat an eye. Told me the dinner would go on as planned. In fact, she wanted me to tell you that you were late.”

“Late?”

A chuckle rumbled from the chief. “Yep. She never doubted you’d be back. That gal’s got guts.”

Chief Redmond’s words bounced around Eric’s head, knocked the wind out of him. Maggie had faith in him while he’d doubted her. Could she be as strong as the chief described?

Minutes later, he paused in The Homestead’s threshold. The smell of roasted turkey greeted him like a handshake. Heat emanated from a roaring woodstove, warming him fully, for the first time all day. Chattering children wiggled on seats around painted tablecloths where candles glowed in the centers.

And then…Maggie emerged wearing a blue dress, her hair swept into a loose side bun that highlighted her beautiful face. He coughed, realizing he’d stopped breathing.

He returned Vivie Harris’s greeting and shook hands with her husband, Liam, without tearing his eyes off Maggie.

She’d done it.

Pulled off this incredible meal without power and without knowing if he’d come home…

Chief Redmond was right. She was a gutsy gal.

And Eric was an idiot.

Had she gotten his text?

* * *

Maggie fumed as she delivered the last of the cranberry sauce, trying to ignore Eric.

Of course she’d been relieved when her recharged phone buzzed with word he’d been found. Her knees had given out and she’d sat on the ground, her head spinning, until Rowdy helped her up.

But then, she’d noticed a new text message.

From Eric.

Reading between the lines, she understood that, “I shouldn’t have done this to you” meant “We shouldn’t have gotten back together because you can’t handle tough times.”

At her angry sigh, Hannah grabbed the listing cranberry sauce and placed it on the table.

Didn’t Eric have any faith in her at all?

Had he thought she’d fall apart…like his mother?

She avoided his stare and headed back into the now empty kitchen. “Maggie?”

She glanced up as Vivie’s concerned face emerged around the swing door. “We’re ready for the blessing.”

Maggie released a long breath. “Yes. Coming.”

“Are you alright?”

Maggie forced a smile at her pregnant friend who, according to the most recent doctor visit, should not be on her feet. “Great. Really. I’ll be right out.”

Vivie advanced, cradling her round belly. “I’ll wait.”

Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “So you’re playing the pregnancy card?”

Vivie shrugged, looking pretty in a rose-colored maternity dress. “Whatever it takes to get you out there. Are you still upset about the text?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He’s a man.”

“You say that like it’s the same thing.”

“Sometimes it is.”

Maggie sighed. “True enough. Thank goodness for friends.” She slid an arm around Vivie. “Happy Thanksgiving, sweetie.”

Vivie smiled and hugged Maggie back. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

As they entered the room, the sound of a fork clanging against a glass quieted the noisy group. Maggie sat next to Liam and Vivie, noting Eric’s close position.

“First of all,” the chief said, “I’d like to give thanks to Maggie and Vivie, their staff and the guys from my company who managed not to screw—”

At his wife’s sharp glance, he checked himself.

“Who managed not to mess up putting on the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever seen, despite the weather. I also want to thank the search and rescue team for saving our missing hiker who, I’m glad to report, is recovering in the hospital with a meal not as good as this. Still. He’s alive and that’s thanks, most of all, to Lieutenant Eric Langley, the most thick-headed, stubborn son-of-a-gun I’ve ever had the honor to work with.”

“Hear, hear!” the adults shouted while the children whooped and clapped their hands.

Eric’s face reddened and his eyes swerved to hers. When he stood, the applause tapered off.

“There’s a lot I’m thankful for,” he began.

She flushed and studied her hands, twisting them in her lap. She loved him so much…but she wouldn’t be with a man who didn’t believe in her.

“A great woman once said that love isn’t about what you expect to get; it’s what you expect to give—everything.”

“Katharine Hepburn,” Maggie exclaimed, glancing at Eric sharply. By now even the littlest kids gaped at the two of them.

He nodded, a slow smile drawing up the corners of his mouth. “I was actually thinking of you, Maggie. You shared that quote with me. In fact, you’ve given me everything. Support, love and most of all, your faith. You’ve always believed in me and I’m sorry for ever doubting you. I want to give you everything, too, including me, if you’ll have me.”

When he pushed back his chair, the kids oohed and aahed around them. Maggie flushed. What was he doing? She tried to read his expression, but all she saw was his love for her. He wanted her forgiveness. Knew he was wrong to doubt her. And when he’d said “give you everything” did he mean…

He got down on one knee before her, held her hands in his, and her heart skipped more than a few beats at the tender expression on his handsome face. “Maggie James. You’re the only one who knows my heart from the inside. Better than me. I love you with all that I am and can’t imagine me without you. Will you make me the happiest man…do me the honor of being my wife and the mother of our children?”

A loud whoop broke out. Tears overflowed her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. He wanted her. Wanted a life with her. A real one, full of children. It was too much and, for the second time in three days, speech failed her.

“She can’t say yes. You don’t have a ring!” Hannah hollered. She stood atop her chair and swished her arms like a referee calling foul.

“Here. I won this from a machine.” Taylor tossed a plastic ring at Eric. “Can we eat now?” He waved a fork that dripped suspiciously with gravy.

Laughter rang around the table. Eric cocked his head as his voice took on a playful note. “If Maggie says yes.” He brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles and his brown eyes rose to search hers. “Will you, Mags?”

She nodded hard and, as he slid the ring on her finger, peace stole through her, followed by the sweetest happiness. “One lifetime with you isn’t enough, but it will have to do,” she teased back, her voice hoarse from emotion overload. “I love you…so… Yes.”

“Kiss. Kiss. Kiss,” the firemen chanted, and to her utter delight, Eric swept her into his arms and did just that.

“You know,” she whispered later, when they sat across from Taylor and Hannah. “We could start a family sooner rather than later.”

He followed her gaze and smiled, the light in his eyes melting her heart. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing…”

* * * * *

If you loved Thankful for You by award-winning author Karen Rock, don’t miss A Cowboy to Keep, available from Harlequin Heartwarming in February 2017!

Dinner Rolls by Karen Rock

Ingredients

1 cup milk

¼ cup shortening

¼ cup sugar

2 teaspoons salt

Approximately 6 cups of all –purpose flour

1 package of yeast (rapid rise)

1 cup lukewarm water

1 egg, beaten

1 tablespoon melted butter

Directions

1. Scald milk in a small pan. Mix in shortening, sugar and salt. Remove from heat. Cool to lukewarm.

2. Pour liquid mixture into a large bowl and mix with spoon. Add 1 cup of flour. Mix well with a spoon.

3. In the meantime, stir yeast into lukewarm water in small bowl.

4. Add beaten egg and dissolved yeast to milk mixture. Mix well. Add the rest of the flour, one cup at a time, until the dough is soft.

5. Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface for 10 minutes. Put the dough ball in a large greased bowl. Cover with plastic wrap. Allow to rise in a warm spot until it has doubled in size (approximately 60 to 90 minutes).

6. Preheat oven to 400°F and grease three 8” cake pans.

7. Punch dough down. Let rise again until it has doubled in size. Pinch off portions and form into golf ball–sized rolls.

8. Place in cake pans, keeping each roll a half inch away from the sides and from other rolls. Bake for 10 minutes or until the tops are golden brown. Brush tops with melted butter when removed from oven.

Autumn at Jasper Lake

By Carol Ross

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Recipe: Pecan Tarts

CHAPTER ONE

The plane banked slightly, offering a stunning view of the sun draping its golden glow over snowcapped mountain peaks. To the west, the deep blue of the ocean shimmered like an endless bed of finely cut crystals. Buildings nestled together on the edge of a small bay formed the core of a little town. Ryder Shelton had seen a lot of the world in his two tours, but this bird’s eye view of Rankins, Alaska, was hands down the prettiest.

Endless acres of lush forest soon came into focus along the marshy, lightly-iced shoreline of Jasper Lake, a small lake about twelve miles outside of town. A moose standing knee-deep in the lake languidly lifted his head, then let it dip back down again, obviously used to the sound of the small floatplane’s engine. The pontoons touched down on the lake’s surface with a slight skip and then the plane was gliding smoothly across the surface of the lake. Toward his new home. Something seemed to shift and then settle peacefully inside of him.

Thoughts of Dell immediately surfaced; his closest friend and teammate lying in a hospital bed as tubes and wires and the sheer force of his wife Brianna’s will kept him alive. And Brianna screaming at him and demanding that he leave the hospital room. Ryder knew that true peace, for him, was just not possible. The best he could hope for was to somehow learn to live with the grief and the guilt, the flashbacks and the nightmares.

When they reached the shore, Ryder opened the door of the puddle jumper and was surprised to see a woman walking toward him. A woman with a dog. He climbed out onto the pontoon and made his way to the beach.

The pilot, his friend Tag James, joined him. “One of your new neighbors,” he said, lifting a hand to wave. “Hey Jess,” he called out. “I’ve got your packages.”

With a wave of her own she continued forward. She was wearing jeans, thick-soled hiking boots, and a red flannel jacket that had seen better days. Silky strands of black hair had fallen out of her messy bun to frame her sharp features.

Stopping in front of them she asked, “What’s with the bobble on the landing, Tag? There’s no wind. The lake is glass.”

“What are you talking about? That landing was perfect.”

She lifted a shoulder, her expression as doubt-filled as her tone. “If you say so.”

“I am the best pilot in the state of Alaska and you know it.”

She grinned and addressed Ryder this time. “Pilots. This is a problem with them, have you noticed?” She pinched two fingers together and added, “It’s a fine line between confidence and conceit.”

Tag tipped his head back and laughed. “Ryder, this is Jessie Madigan. Mediocre pilot and your new neighbor.”

She stuck out her hand. Ryder shook it. “Ryder Shelton.”

“Nice to meet you. Welcome to Rankins.”

“Thank you. Good to meet you, too.”

His eye was drawn to the shy dog cowering beside her and a too-familiar sensation of sadness and longing gripped his chest. Thick caramel-colored fur with black and gray markings, probably a shepherd mixed with malamute or golden retriever or maybe some Great Pyrenees.

“And this is Fife,” she said.

“How’s she doing?” Tag asked.

“Not good. I’m still baffled.”

Ryder couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why are you baffled?”

Intense brownish-black eyes met his. “Poor dog is… She’s not interested in anything. She’s afraid of everything. I’ve tried all my tricks.”

He crouched. The dog stared at him and Ryder could see a spark of curiosity mixed with yearning, in spite of what Jessie claimed.

“Don’t be offended. She doesn’t like anybody.”

And then, even though he knew he shouldn’t, even though it made his stomach knot tighter than it already was, he pitched his voice higher and called softly in the way he knew, “Fife, do you want to come over here and see me, beautiful girl? You are a pretty one, aren’t you?”

* * *

Jessie gaped as Fife crept forward. Even the tail she normally kept firmly tucked between her legs began to twitch. Jessie remained frozen, but through her shock came the thought that this guy’s tone was so compelling she couldn’t blame the dog. Fife sank down in front of him and he slowly reached out, stroking her side, still murmuring his soft words. She heaved a sigh of contentment as she relaxed against him.

“Clearly she likes someone,” Tag offered in a teasing tone.

“Apparently,” Jessie said to Tag, not bothering to hide her surprise. “You didn’t mention your friend was a dog whisperer.” She watched transfixed as Fife seemed besotted in this man’s gentle hands. A bubble of hope rose within her, the first she’d had since Fife had arrived.

He looked up then, a cheerful, satisfied smile planted on his handsome face. Hair the color of an otter’s fur curled around his ears and fell over his brow. At least a day’s growth of whiskers covered his jaw.

Jessie felt herself returning the smile. “What did you do? Did you hypnotize her somehow? Can dogs even be hypnotized? How do I not know the answer to that..?” She trailed off with a shake of her head.

“No tricks, I promise. Dogs like me.”

“Ha,” Jessie said while Fife rested her head against Ryder’s chest and gazed at him with love-struck eyes. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that over the years? Sure, once in while it’s true, but usually it’s due more to the dog than the person.” She pointed wildly between Ryder and Fife. “And with a dog like this? This does not happen.”

“What do you mean a dog like this?” Hazel green eyes met hers inquiringly.

“I’ve fostered hundreds of dogs over the years and I’ve never had one like this. Something is…off with her.”

* * *

“A rescue dog?” Ryder patted the beautiful animal leaning against him as compassion welled within him.

“Yes, I do animal rescue. Dogs mostly, but cats, too.”

Tag chimed in, “And a pair of moose calves, and an eagle and a baby otter…”

“What was I supposed to do? Let those calves starve to death. And I only had the eagle for a couple weeks before the rehab center up in Great Skeet took him in.”

Tag let out a laugh.

Jessie shot Ryder a sympathetic glance as Fife buried her head under his arm. “I’m sorry she stinks. She rolled in moose droppings and I haven’t attempted to give her a bath yet. Like I mentioned, she’s afraid of water and pretty much everything else.” Fife brought her head up licked his ear. Jessie dipped her head to one side and said, “Well. Except you. Obviously. What did you do, rub bacon on your neck or something?”

He chuckled and said to Fife, “A little moose poop never hurt anyone, did it?”

She studied him with narrowed eyes. “Are you a vet?”

“Not the kind you’re thinking.”

“You’re military?”

“Was. Yes.”

“Ryder was special forces,” Tag chimed in.

“Thank you,” Jessie said immediately. “For your service. I hope you know that every single day people all over this country are grateful to you. You guys go through so much and I… I’m grateful.”

The sincerity in her tone was startling and her gaze burned into him. Ryder was used to people thanking him, but a complicated tangle of emotions tightened inside of him at her words; a yearning for the camaraderie he’d enjoyed with his team, regret that he was no longer there for them, wishing he could go back to that day before everything went so horribly wrong. Before he and Dell were injured and Zoe had been killed.

But the way this woman was looking at him also made him feel appreciated, valued. “You’re welcome,” he said. “It was an honor to serve. I’m as grateful for this country as you are.”

The smile she flashed him was dazzling. His heart skipped a beat, possibly two. And he’d thought the view of Rankins from the plane was as beautiful as anything he’d ever seen. What was wrong with him? He’d been here for a matter of minutes and already he was being taken in by a pretty dog rescuer and her new orphan? Proof, Ryder immediately asserted to himself, that he was not in his right mind. He was here to get away from people, to take a break from the world. He needed to get his head together, not jumble it further.

Ryder rose to his feet. “It was nice to meet you both. Good luck with this beautiful girl.” He reached down to give Fife a final scratch.

“Thanks,” she said. “You, too. I’m going to need some of that luck since I don’t speak dog quite as fluently as you obviously do.”

He chuckled. “Just listen closely. Sometimes they have their own ways of telling us what they need. You’ll figure it out.” Then he turned toward Tag. “How about showing me my new digs?”

Ryder could feel two sets of eyes on his back as he and Tag started toward the cabin. Something in him itched to turn around and see if he was right. What could it hurt to take one more glance at the lovely Jessie and her dog Fife? Cool it, Ryder, he told himself, women and dogs were both off limits. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder. Jessie lifted a hand and he returned the gesture as Fife stared at him hopefully.

“Nice.” Tag’s tone was teasing when he turned back around. “I can tell you like it here already.”

“Shut up,” Ryder snapped. Tag guffawed and slapped him hard on the shoulder.

CHAPTER TWO

The cabin Ryder had purchased looked even better in person than the photos he’d seen. It was nestled amongst evergreen trees some two-hundred feet from the lake. The siding was unfinished cedar and a deep, covered porch wrapped all the way around the structure. Pausing there for a moment to take in the stunning view of the lake, he saw Jessie and Fife disappear into a copse of trees.

Tag pointed. “Jessie lives in the closest house there.” Ryder saw a gray home partially hidden in the trees. The shoreline curved away forming a small bay between the homes. “You’ll see her come out on the other side of that brush in a few minutes. Wendell and Evie Havre live there. Marshall Quick is in the red house. You can barely see the Nettle’s house through that thick wooded section over there. There’s a trail that runs around most of the lake. People who live here use it a lot because it’s faster than taking the road. That reminds me, your pickup is in the garage along with your ATV and two snow machines. Keys are hanging on the rack by the back door.”

Ryder followed Tag into the house and took a long look around. Cozy. Secluded. Exactly what he’d wanted. They stepped toward the kitchen area. A worn oak dining table sat in an alcove. Something was sitting near the center of the table.

He walked over and stared down at the round tin. “Why is there a pie on my table?”

Tag flashed him a wide smile. “Looks like Jessie’s handiwork. She always picks gallons of huckleberries. And, angel that she is, she likes to share them.”

Ryder slowly shook his head.

“You’re in Rankins. I warned you. I’d be willing to bet there are at least two casseroles and a pot of soup in your fridge, too.”

Ryder walked over and pulled the door open.

Tag peered around him. “Looks like three casseroles, two soups, and what is that? A potato salad? Doesn’t surprise me really. Someone moving here with winter setting in is kind of unusual. I usually have skis on the plane by now.”

“Great.” Ryder said, scraping a hand over his cheek. He moved it around to squeeze the ball of tension forming in the back of his neck.

“It is kind of.” Tag said. “If you let it be.”

“Tag—”

“I know, I know.” Tag lifted his hands palms up in a gesture of surrender. “I know you want your solitude and I hope it works for you, buddy. Don’t worry, your neighbors will want to meet you but they’ll leave you alone—eventually. Just don’t expect me to leave you alone.”

A wave of affection washed over him for this friend he’d met twenty-one years ago. Ryder had been an introverted boy of ten who spent every spare minute hanging around his grandfather’s vet practice. Worried about his lack of interest in much of anything else, his grandparents’ solution had been to send him to a summer camp in Upper Michigan. Ryder’s plan had been to skulk around for two weeks and have a miserable time and show his grandparents that he was fine. But Tag had been his assigned roommate. He hadn’t left him alone back then either, urging him to participate, prodding him to do better, and making it all fun. By camp’s end, Ryder knew how to catch, clean, and cook a fish. He could paddle a canoe, use a compass, construct a decent emergency shelter, and start a fire with no matches.

They’d both looked forward to camp every summer for the next six years, and then they’d spent two additional years as counselors. He credited that camp, and especially Tag, for generating his interest in athletics and the outdoors. All of which had eventually led him to the military.

“You know, you haven’t changed that much since our camp days, still pushy and obnoxious and—”

“Good-looking, intelligent, funny, and right—always right,” Tag joked and moved around Ryder to peek under the tin foil covering one dish. “This is my cousin Janie’s lasagna. I can personally guarantee it’s the best you’ll ever have.”

Ryder’s stomach let out a grumble.

Tag shot him a grin. “I heard that. How about I fix us some lunch? Which reminds me, Mom wanted me to invite you for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Thanksgiving dinner with the James clan? Somehow I’m guessing that with the size of your family, solitude is not on the itinerary?”

“Nope,” Tag said, scooping out a large portion of the layered pasta onto a plate. “But we have the best food you’ll ever eat, a ton of fun, and plenty to be grateful for.”

* * *

The next morning Ryder took a cup of tea out onto his porch to relish the silence. Well, it wasn’t exactly silent. The breeze blew dry leaves across the yard with a scraping sound and an owl hooted in the distance. A pair of kayakers paddled around the lake and he thought he could make out the sound of laughter. He couldn’t blame them for taking advantage of the crisp clear day as he was sure it wouldn’t be much longer until the lake froze over for the winter.

Jessie came into view across the lake. He counted three dogs. Had she made any progress where Fife was concerned? He found himself wondering what her story was. What was she doing here living here on this tiny lake, miles from an already-remote town? Maybe he’d venture over there and…and what? It didn’t matter because it was not a good idea. He didn’t need to spend any more time around her to know how appealing she was.

Ryder spent the rest of the day unpacking and checking out the house and property. As Tag predicted, some of his neighbors stopped by to introduce themselves. “Neighbor” was a loose term, he learned, as a couple of them lived miles away. By the time he went to bed that night he was feeling tired and hopeful that he’d finally get a good night’s sleep.

But, as usual, sleep eluded him for hours.

* * *

The high-pitched sound broke the silence, terrifying and deafening.

Ryder struggled to waken from the nightmare as Zoe’s howl and Dell’s scream pierced the air, echoing in his brain. He couldn’t tell one from the other. He tried to turn and look but something tore through his shoulder and knocked him back.

He bolted upright. Zoe was whining insistently now… Regaining his senses, he realized that couldn’t be. He was awake, sitting up in bed. Zoe was dead. Dell was injured. He’d placed a hand over his own shoulder to stop the bleeding. He lowered it slowly, realizing an unfamiliar sound remained, but it wasn’t coming from his beloved dog.

He got out of bed, slipped on a pair of sweats and followed the noise. In the kitchen he found steam billowing from a teakettle on the stovetop, and his neighbor sitting calmly at his table. Shooting her a what-the-heck look, he hurried across the small kitchen and lifted the whistling kettle off the burner.

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “Did I wake you?”

“Uh, yes.” Ryder said. “I’m wondering if I need to start locking my door?”

She shrugged, looking doubtful. “You could try that. Most people will think you accidentally locked yourself out and do you a favor…” she paused to add air quotes “…by breaking in.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. His dreams always left him terrified, irritable, and depressed about Dell’s condition and the loss of Zoe. But there was something about her that made it impossible for him to be grumpy, her honesty or sincerity or cheerfulness? Something. Two mugs were sitting out with teabags already resting inside them. He poured boiling water into them both as he tried to analyze why he was happy to see her. The day before he’d been proud of the fact that thus far he’d resisted the urge to hike across the lake.

“I’m glad you’re awake. I came to ask a favor. I brought you some muffins, so it might be considered a bribe.”

“They smell delicious.” He pulled back the towel covering the basket on the table. He picked up a still warm muffin and broke it into two pieces. He ate half of it in two bites. “Mmm,” he groaned. “They are delicious. Amazing that I’m still hungry after the feasting I’ve done the last couple days.”

“Lasagna?”

“Yes. And pie.”

A satisfied grin lit her face. “I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe it will make you even more willing to help.”

Chewing on the remaining piece of muffin saved him from having to answer. He didn’t want to help, nor did he want to be helped. Not even by his pretty, muffin-baking neighbor with the high cheekbones and the wide mouth that seemed perpetually on the verge of a smile.

“Cream or sugar or honey?” he asked.

“Honey, please.”

Glad he’d taken Tag up on his offer to stock his cupboards before he arrived, he slipped a spoon into one mug and set it on the table in front of her along with a jar of honey.

“What kind of favor?” He asked the question even though he dreaded the answer. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help. It was just that help, giving and getting, always included involvement to some degree. And he didn’t want to get involved. He couldn’t get attached. Not to anyone or anything.

She blew out a weary sigh. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to bother you.”

“Are you in the habit of breaking your promises?”

A low, husky laugh escaped from between her lips. The sound stirred something deep within him and he found himself smiling in return.

“I love how you didn’t say I wasn’t bothering you.”

Ryder raised a brow.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I wouldn’t be here if the favor was for me. I promise this won’t become a habit. I value my privacy as much as you do.”

He was unnerved by her words as he realized a part of him did want to help her. Another part of him, an even bigger part, wanted her to invade his privacy. But then again, she had chosen to live out here on this lake, too. She probably had her own issues. Two people with issues didn’t mix well. Yet another reason to keep his distance.

“Fife,” she said. “I want you to help me with Fife.”

“What makes you think I can help?”

She dipped her chin and stared up at him through her dark-as-charcoal lashes. “Come on. You have a connection. And you know very well that I can see that you’ve worked with dogs in some capacity. Do you want to tell me where you learned?”

“My grandpa was a vet, the veterinarian kind. He had his own practice. I grew up helping him out after school and on weekends. He would board dogs, too. It was my job to take care of them. I loved it. It was all I wanted to do for a long time. Me and dogs… We just fit.”

Jessie peered at him questioningly. “Why don’t you have a dog now?”

He stirred his tea, the spoon clinking against the inside of his mug. “I did. I had a dog—Zoe. She was my partner, but she, uh… She died.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “In combat?”

“Yes.”

There was so much compassion in her deep brown eyes Ryder had to look away. This was exactly the kind of intimacy he’d intended to stay away from.

She must have sensed his discomfort because she changed the subject. “You were raised by your grandparents?”

“I was. Grandpa died when I was eighteen. And I lost Grandma almost a year ago while I was still overseas. She had cancer and I didn’t get back in time. I, uh, I couldn’t get back.”

A furrow appeared between her brows. “The military wouldn’t let you?”

He swallowed and looked over at her. “Not exactly. I was… It was my fault.”

And that was the crux of the problem. It hadn’t been his fault, his rational brain knew that. He’d been recovering from his injuries in a hospital in Germany at the same time that Dell had been lying in a coma in the very same hospital. He couldn’t get home.

Zoe was gone. Grandma was gone, along with the only home and family he’d ever known. Dell had a wife and a child. Why couldn’t it have been him instead? Guilt and grief sometimes overwhelmed him to the point where he could barely move. All of which he’d come here to somehow get a grip on. And how could he do that if he let another person, another dog, slip into his heart?

He couldn’t risk it and yet he found himself asking, “What do you know about Fife’s background?”

She winced. “Not much. I happened to be at a shelter in Glacier City looking for a foster candidate when she was brought in with a bunch of other dogs. They’d been confiscated from this crazy commune place where the guy in charge had stationed dogs all the way around the perimeter. Fifty-two dogs chained up one after another. Pitiful. Someone would come and feed and water them every few days, but basically they were living on their own. Fife wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She does this high-pitched howl…” Her voice trailed off.

“Like a fife?”

Her eyes met his and held, but she didn’t really seem surprised that he knew the sound this small flute made. “Yes. The shelter was overwhelmed and the vet in charge wanted to put her down. So I offered to take her. Somehow I managed to get her into my car, and here we are.”

Ryder had to admit he would have done the same. He had learned from watching his grandfather that even the most seemingly hopeless of cases deserved a chance. Sympathy and a desire to help warred with his trepidation. They were talking about an innocent dog. What choice did he have?

CHAPTER THREE

Ryder came through the fence that circled her house and kept the dogs from wandering. Jessie never let them out beyond the fence alone. There was too much danger; bears, wolves, even a moose could stomp a dog to death. She liked how commanding his presence was. Strong, and clearly in control yet he had this gentleness about him that made her wonder how it would feel to be wrapped in those muscled arms. Safe, she decided.

Too bad that could never happen. If anyone knew the heartbreak that could come with getting involved with a military man it was her, especially a troubled one. Jessie had finally come to terms with her own loss, yet sometimes she still wrangled with the role she had played in Craig’s condition, in not being able to prevent her fiancé’s death.

Colfax and Pia greeted him. Colfax was a grayish brown husky lab mix and Pia appeared to be the offspring of some unidentifiable mutant breed of wire-haired wolf. They were the only two permanent, canine members of the Madigan family. One was large, the other huge. Both were friendly dogs with sweet dispositions and no bad habits. Fine examples both, for wayward foster dogs to follow.

“You didn’t mention that you did pony rescue, too,” Ryder joked and then buried his face in Pia’s neck. It didn’t take much effort, her head reached to his chest. “She is a beauty. Irish wolfhound?”

Jessie grinned. Everyone who knew anything about dogs took a guess at Pia’s heritage. Ryder’s theory mirrored her own. “That’s exactly what I think. She’s certainly as sweet as a wolfhound.”

Colfax sat patiently waiting his turn. Ryder turned toward him. “What about you, husky boy? You need some love, too, huh?”

Colfax answered with some enthusiastic tail-wagging. Ryder complimented his good looks and excellent behavior as he gave him a thorough scratching.

Jessie felt herself melt. Nothing got to her quite like a man sweet-talking a dog. Especially one as big and tough and imposing as Ryder. Pia nudged her way in again and nearly knocked them both over. Ryder laughed.

“This is what I want for Fife,” Jessie said with a chuckle of her own.

“Where is she?” he finally asked.

Jessie pointed next to a tree where Fife now stood watching them warily.

If the sight of Ryder charming her two dogs had made her weak in the knees, watching him work his magic on Fife seemed to liquefy her entire body. He sank to his knees near her, murmuring the whole time. He didn’t touch her. Until the dog moved forward and rested her head on his lap. He sat with her a long time, talking quietly and stroking her thick fur. Jessie had to work hard to stifle her tears when she watched him place a kiss on the top of Fife’s filthy head.

He looked up at her then, a furrow creasing his brow. “I think there’s something else going on here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think she feels well. When I touch her here,” Ryder paused to point to an area under her chin, “she flinches. And when I compare it to the other side…” He curled his hands around her neck. “…it feels swollen.”

Jessie felt her stomach fall. “What do you think it is?”

He gestured at her. “Come here. Let me show you.”

* * *

Jessie knelt beside them. Ryder guided her hands to the right place. Concentration knitted her brow and after a moment her espresso-colored eyes latched onto his. Something like excitement danced in their depths and he felt a stir of it himself. The reaction surprised him. It had been so long since he’d felt…anything, besides the numbing sadness that had taken over his life.

“I can feel it,” she whispered. “Definitely swollen. What are you thinking?”

Ryder shook his head. “Not sure. Probably infection of some kind. Her skin feels warm, too. I don’t feel a wound, but it could be a puncture, or an infected sliver? What do you have for first aid supplies?”

“Pretty much everything. What do you need?”

Ryder told her.

“Let’s go in,” she said and took off for the house. She’d managed to produce all the supplies by the time he’d led Fife inside.

“This is quite the setup you have here,” he said, studying the space.

“Thank you,” she said and explained that she’d had the large room added on specifically for dog rehabilitation. There were dog beds, food and water bowls in one corner, and leashes, harnesses and collars of various sizes and colors hanging on a series of hooks by the door. Squeaky toys and balls were scattered around the space. A dog door led into a large courtyard, half of which was covered.

Ryder headed to the corner that contained a state of the art dog washing station complete with dryer. “This is what we need.”

“You’re going to give her a bath?”

“Yep. I’m hoping we’ll be able to see what’s under all that fur a little better. And if there is some kind of wound, I would like to get her cleaned up before we work on her.”

An hour later, Jessie was pretty sure Ryder was a miracle worker. Fife had been bathed and dried with a minimal amount of fuss. He’d shaved the fur from the area of concern and confirmed that she definitely had something lodged under the skin beneath her jaw.

He rummaged around in Jessie’s supplies and removed some antiseptic, cotton rounds, a scalpel, and a pair of tweezers. She handed him a head-mounted magnifier, which he slipped on. He spoke softly and caressed Fife for a few minutes, getting her settled. Jessie marveled at how calm the dog seemed. Her eyes were wide, belying some anxiety, but her trust in Ryder was clearly greater than her fear.

Jessie could see the infected area, the skin swollen and red. He made a small incision with the scalpel and yellowish pus begin to ooze out. His hand was steady as he gently probed with a pair of tweezers.

“Got it,” he whispered and pulled away the tweezers.

Jessie produced a length of gauze and Ryder dropped the object onto the pad.

“Is that a pellet?”

“Yes. A .117 caliber pellet,” Ryder answered, his jaw clenched so tight he could barely get the words out. He continued his ministrations, thoroughly cleaning and then applying anti-bacterial cream to the area.

Jessie felt sick to her stomach. Someone had shot this beautiful dog. The cruelty she encountered in her animal rescue efforts would never cease to get to her. “How long has it been in there?”

“Hard to say. Probably happened within days of your getting her. Luckily, she can’t reach the spot to chew it. She may try to scratch it when it starts to heal, but we’ll deal with that when we have to. She’ll need antibiotics for a couple weeks, but she’s going to be fine.”

After finishing up, they let Fife go. They stood together and watched her for a few moments. Jessie thought her anxiety had already lessened. She and Ryder sat at opposite ends of the blanket-covered sofa. Fife circled on a therapeutic dog bed lying at Ryder’s feet, settling in for a nap with her nose pressed against his leg. A surge of warm relief filled Jessie’s chest, and looking at Ryder she could tell he felt it, too. Tears welled in her eyes as embarrassment heated her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said, swiping at a tear. “I’m feeling like you showing up here when you did was meant to be.”

Jessie wondered about the uneasy expression on his face. There was no doubt in her mind that Ryder was suffering, too. She understood his pain better than a person ever should. In spite of what she’d told him about valuing his privacy, something had happened here between them today. She knew in her heart that she could help him. Fife could help.

Her pulse leapt when he reached out a hand and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know about that, but I’m glad I could lend a hand.”

* * *

Ryder removed his hand, conscious of the fact he’d broken his own rule of maintaining distance. “What about you?” he asked, turning the subject around to her.

“What about me?”

“What are you doing living here on this tiny lake in Alaska?”

She smiled. “I was born here.”

“In Rankins?”

“No. I was born in a tiny village way up north outside of Barrow. My mom is Native Alaskan and my dad is a fisherman. They still live there. I wanted a milder climate.”

“Have you by chance heard of a place called southern California?”

Ryder liked the way her laugh made her eyes dance.

“I love Alaska. I could never live anywhere else. I traveled some after college…with my fiancé. I never found anywhere that I liked more. Then I started doing dog rescue, which would be more difficult up in Barrow, with the harsher weather and the few hours of daylight in the winter.”

“What happened?” The question popped out before he could stop it.

“What do you mean?”

“The word fiancé implies marriage?”

“Oh…” Her gaze shifted away from his and then back again. The pain in her expression made his heart hurt even as it reminded him a bit of his own. “Yes it does, I guess. But I wasn’t. He died.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, thinking she seemed so alive to have gone through an experience like that.

“We all experience loss in our lives at some point. But that doesn’t make it any easier, does it? We wonder what we could have said or done differently. It can make it especially difficult to move on.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond and he sensed she understood when she followed it up with a question, “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving dinner next week?”

Thanksgiving? Tag had invited him to his family’s bash, but Ryder couldn’t bear the thought of going. He wanted to be grateful. He did. But…

“I’m going to sit it out this year.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “What? Why?”

“I can’t imagine having Thanksgiving dinner without my grandma or my friends back home.” He always spent Thanksgiving with Dell. That included Brianna and Grandma if he and Dell were stateside. When they were deployed Brianna would still spend the holiday with Grandma.

“I understand…” she answered slowly. “So I’m going to say this fast before I change my mind. I believe the best way to get over grief is to face it head on. I don’t know what happened to you exactly, but I can see your pain. And in spite of whatever is going on inside your head, whatever sadness or regret or guilt you’re feeling, you do deserve to be happy.”

All he could do was stare at her.

“So, if you change your mind you can come over to Wendell and Evie’s. Evie and I cook dinner for everyone who…” she trailed off and then added, “…for anyone who doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Thank you,” he said. But the part of him that wanted to accept the invitation didn’t stand a chance against the part that warned him it wouldn’t be a good idea. His guilt, his bone-deep sorrow would not allow him to be grateful for anything. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

Ryder should have known that things were going too well, that life in Rankins was too good to be true. He’d been spending some time at Jessie’s every day helping her with Fife. She was already a different dog and it was all he could do not to bring her home with him. He held on to the knowledge that he was making a positive difference in someone’s life. It also felt amazing to spend time with Jessie.

He was getting ready to head to town for lunch with Tag when the knock sounded on his door. A knock? He froze, waiting for the accompanying sound of the door opening and one of his neighbors calling out his name. When that didn’t happen, a sinking feeling edged in to replace the anticipation.

He walked over and opened the door and instantly realized he’d had that sinking feeling for a good reason.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jessie thought that Fife seemed almost as anxious as Colfax and Pia to be out for a walk today. The fact that they were headed in Ryder’s direction might have a little something to do with her eagerness. And who was she kidding? It had plenty to do with hers, too. She couldn’t wait for Ryder to see their brave girl trotting along beside her buddies.

She’d just emerged from the copse of trees that abutted his property when she saw the unfamiliar car pull into his drive. She stopped as two men in uniform emerged from the vehicle. Dread flooded through her as her heart, speaking from experience, told her this wasn’t good.

* * *

“Hey, buddy.” Cody Braxton reached out a hand for Ryder to shake. Reece Travers did the same. Two of his friends and former teammates.

“Jeez, man. It’s good to see you,” Reece said. But his face was twisted with pain and what looked like concern.

“You, too,” Ryder somehow managed to squeeze the words out of lungs that were so tightly constricted in his chest he could barely draw a breath.

“I’m so sorry it’s under these circumstances,” Cody went on. “I wish…”

“Say it, Cody. Just say it.”

Cody nodded, his face a solemn mask. “Dell died yesterday. Ryder, please believe me when I tell you that no one blames you for what happened. We could have all died if you hadn’t taken those guys out. Not just Dell.”

But Ryder knew that wasn’t all true. Brianna blamed him. She’d told him so in no uncertain words. “You promised me you’d keep him safe, Ryder. You lied. You lied to me. Dell is gone and now our daughter doesn’t have a father. And it’s your fault.” That’s when she had pushed him out of Dell’s room and told him not to come back.

Cody handed him an envelope. ‘Ryder Shelton’ was scrawled across the front in an unfamiliar hand.

* * *

Jessie had no idea how long she stared at Ryder’s cabin trying to decide what to do. She assumed from what she’d seen, from Ryder’s body language and that of the soldiers, that the news they brought hadn’t been good. Fife tugged on her leash and pranced impatiently.

All three dogs seemed disappointed when they turned and headed back home. She stoked the fire and sat down on the sofa in front of the large picture window overlooking the lake, which also provided a view of Ryder’s cabin.

A couple hours later she saw the men depart. She couldn’t decide what to do. Should she go to Ryder now or give him more time to absorb whatever information the men had delivered?

As darkness fell, she slipped into her coat, leashed the dogs, and headed to Ryder’s cabin. Her pulse pounded wildly as she climbed the steps and walked to his door. Inhaling a deep steadying breath, she reached down to turn the knob. Locked. The sign she’d been dreading. Calm down, Jessie, she reminded herself. Ryder isn’t Craig.

Beside her Fife whined, sniffing between the door and the jamb.

“I know, Fife. I want to see him, too,” she whispered.

As they made their way home again, she noticed Fife kept looking back. She didn’t know what to do. Not for the dog or the man. She didn’t know Ryder well enough to know how far she should push. What she did have was a source of information only a few miles away and her own experience to draw from.

From her place, she texted Ryder and waited. He didn’t respond. Not that she expected him to. She picked her phone up again and dialed Tag.

He answered on the second ring. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hey. Um…” she began. “I’m worried about Ryder.” She realized how ridiculous that must sound so she charged on, “These two guys in uniform showed up today. I saw them talking to him when they got here and I know that whatever they told him was bad and—”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. They did bring him some bad news. One of his best friends died. He was injured on a mission with Ryder and he’d been in the hospital ever since.”

“How could they do that? Give him that kind of news and then leave? They shouldn’t have left him alone.” Jessie could hear the shrillness of her tone that matched her barely-contained panic.

“They didn’t leave, Jess.”

“I saw them leave. I—”

“They’re there. They’re keeping a discrete eye on him. They won’t leave until they know Ryder is okay.”

“Oh… Tell me what happened to him. I have bits and pieces. I know he lost his dog and his grandmother, and now his friend. But I need to know the rest.”

Tag let out a loud sigh. “I’ll tell you some of it. What I think I can get away with telling you without Ryder wanting to hurt me. And I’m only going to do that because I know your story, too.”

She stayed silent, waiting.

After a few seconds he asked, “You really care about him, huh?”

“I do, Tag. We’re sort of… I can’t let anything happen to him.”

By the time the call ended, she had a firmer understanding of the circumstances. But even with the knowledge that his friends were positioned around the cabin, she didn’t feel any better. What would make her feel better would be to see him with her own eyes, alive and whole.

Jessie checked the fire and sat down on the sofa to think. Pia joined her while Colfax and Fife settled at her feet. She stroked Pia’s coarse fur and thought about how the dog had been a tiny puppy when Craig had died. She’d contracted distemper and nursing her through it had been what kept Jessie moving. She remembered thinking that if only Craig had something like that maybe things would have been different. Of course, he had never shared her depth of love for animals.

Not like Ryder did.

* * *

Ryder stared at the wall. The pain was constant now, like a tide that only moved in one direction. Unrelenting, crashing waves of anguish broke over him one after another. He hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped that Dell would somehow pull through. Images of a happy smiling Dell playing racquetball, working on his old mustang, or just joking around intermingled with a barely-breathing, blood soaked Dell.

His phone buzzed on the table beside him. He reached over and shut it off. He wished it was that easy to shut off this aching pain in his soul. His skin felt itchy, like he’d been lying in sand for hours. He needed to do something. That’s when he saw the envelope Cody had handed him earlier. He opened it and began to read: Dear Ryder, Dell is dead. My world is black. Words can’t explain this kind of pain but I want you to know how sorry I am…

Tears rolled down his face as he read the missive from his friend, the widow of his best friend. When he finished, he set the letter down and inhaled a deep breath. Then he stood up and walked to the bedroom where he kept his guns.

* * *

Very early the next morning Jessie called Tag again.

“Morning’ Jess,” Tag answered. It didn’t sound as if she’d woken him. “I don’t have any information for you. He hasn’t come out of the cabin. Reece said—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I’m watching, too.”

“Somehow I knew you were.”

“Tell them I’m going in, okay? Tell them not to stop me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just tell them, Tag. Okay?”

The sun had yet to show it’s lazy winter glow when Jessie and Fife walked toward Ryder’s. She half-expected one of Ryder’s friends to still stop her as she passed the porch and continued around behind the house.

Vera and Stan, the last residents of the cabin, had been friends. They’d kept a key hidden under a rock so Jessie could feed their cats when they were gone. She made her way to the rock and lifted it, a rush of satisfaction filling her when she saw the dull brass of the key.

She looked at Fife. “Let’s go, girl.”

Fife let out a low woof and trotted around the house toward the front porch.

* * *

Jessie blew out a breath of relief as she followed Fife into the bedroom where Ryder was sprawled across the bed in yesterday’s clothes. He was sleeping. His features bathed in soft light from the lamp he’d left on. Fife jumped up beside him and sniffed his ear.

He groaned and sat up. “Fife? How did you..?”

His gaze turned toward Jessie and that’s when she saw the gun on the nightstand. Lifting her hands, she covered her face and burst into tears. She backed up until she hit the wall behind her and slowly slid to the floor. Ryder was by her side in an instant.

“Jessie? What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

She reached out and fisted her hands into his t-shirt. Pulling him toward her, she wrapped her arms around him. He shifted, easily lifting her into his lap, cradling her in his arms.

“Please, Jessie, talk to me. Are you okay?”

She nodded, pulling up the neck of her shirt to wipe at her tears. Pointing at the nightstand she finally whispered, “I’m sorry. I saw the gun.”

“Guns make you cry?”

Reaching into the vee of her shirt, she removed the dog tags she wore on a chain around her neck. She handed them to Ryder.

He read the name aloud, “Craig Benton? Your fiancé?”

She nodded.

“He was killed in combat?”

“No,” she choked out. “He survived combat. It was the after combat he couldn’t handle.”

Ryder studied her with narrowed eyes, until understanding dawned in his eyes. “No, Jessie. No. I was just cleaning it. When I’m stressed I clean my guns. Lots of guys do it. I would never… Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“He committed suicide seven months after he got home. You’re not the only soldier to have a tough time, Ryder.”

“I realize that. I do. And I’m so, so sorry. Someone I went to boot camp with. He was deployed, but when he got back he couldn’t cope.”

“Yeah, try watching someone you love fade away before your eyes until you barely recognize him anymore.” She placed an open palm across her chest. “I was there and I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t save him. Sometimes things happen and there’s nothing you can do. But meanwhile you do whatever you can. That’s how you get better. You keep going back to Dell’s death being your fault, when really you know in your heart it was the enemy who killed him. You couldn’t be in a hundred places at once and that’s unfortunate. It is. It’s horrible. But you’re not a superhero.”

“Jessie…”

“But you are a hero.”

“I was only doing my duty.”

“I’m not taking about your mission. I’m talking about your life right now. Here, in Rankins. You’re a hero to Fife. You’re a hero to me for getting past your grief enough to help her.”

Fife pranced and let out a bark as if she knew she was being discussed. She nudged Ryder’s hand. Jessie marveled at the dog’s innate instinct to comfort. Ryder reached a hand out to the dog.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, I’m going to be okay.” He smiled and tucked some stray strands of hair behind her ear.

“You are?”

“Eventually, yes, I’m going to be okay. Brianna, Dell’s wife, she wrote me a letter. For a long time she blamed me for what happened to Dell. And I let her. I see that now. It somehow seemed easier to spend time second-guessing myself rather than accepting that I couldn’t control what happened. The guys brought me the letter and I finally got around to reading it. She seems to have figured out some of her issues, too. She apologized and I… I know I have to let him go. And Zoe, too.”

“There is a lot you can do. A lot of things you can try that might help.”

“I think the way to start is to let someone else in.” There was a lightness in his smile now that Jessie had only seen a couple times. New tears threatened; grateful, joy-filled ones this time.

He reached over and scratched Fife under the chin. “Maybe even get another dog.”

She threw her arms around his neck, holding onto him for a long hug. Eventually, he took a step back and she could feel a flush heat her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she started to explain. “There’s no point in trying to hide the fact that I like you. And since it’s almost Thanksgiving I should just appreciate that you’re okay. But I—”

Ryder pulled her in close for a kiss.

“Hey,” he said after a long, lovely moment. “Speaking of Thanksgiving… If you’re not busy, I was invited to this really cool Thanksgiving dinner for people who don’t have anywhere else to go.”

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, Carol Ross has a wonderful Harlequin Heartwarming romance, Christmas in the Cove, coming out in December 2016. Available in paperback and digitally for order online at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

Pecan Mini Tarts by Carol Ross

These flaky-crust pecan pie bites are a favorite on the dessert table at Thanksgiving, Christmas and pretty much any gathering of Carol’s family. Be sure to grab a handful—they go fast!

Ingredients

Crust:

4 ounces cream cheese, softened

½ cup butter

1 cup all-purpose flour

Pinch of salt

Filling:

1 egg

¾ cup brown sugar

1 tablespoon butter

Pinch of salt

1 tablespoon maple syrup (optional)

1 teaspoon vanilla

¾ cup chopped pecans

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

For shells:

2. Mix cream cheese and butter until fluffy. Stir in flour and salt. Chill for 1 hour. Shape into 1-inch balls and press into mini-muffin cups (being sure dough reaches all the way up the sides).

For filling:

3. In a small bowl, beat the egg. Add brown sugar, butter, salt, maple syrup and vanilla, mixing well. Stir in pecans.

4. Pour filling into shells. Bake for 15 minutes or until lightly browned. Cool before removing from pans.

The Firefighter’s Promise

By Kate James

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Recipe: Crab & Cream Cheese Appetizer

CHAPTER ONE

Jax wished that just once she could leave her stepmother’s house—the house she’d grown up in—without stomach spasms and a raging headache. She geared down her Harley Davidson Low Rider and took the turn onto Golden Valley County Road 15 more slowly than normal.

Emotionally she was a mess, and there was no room for error when you rode a motorcycle. Accelerating again along the quiet country road, she felt her eyes sting.

It wasn’t tears. They served no purpose. She never cried.

It was the powerful crosswind forcing its way behind her sunglasses, she tried to convince herself.

If not for Kyle, she wouldn’t go back. But her six-year-old half-brother mattered to her, and she wouldn’t let him down. She’d learned years ago not to allow people into her life. That way, they couldn’t hurt her.

Kyle was the exception. He owned her heart, and she’d do anything for him. Including going back to the house that now belonged to her stepmother, Olivia.

Jax adjusted her speed to keep a safe distance between her and the car ahead. Relaxing her grip on the left handlebar, she rolled her shoulder. The dull ache in her back and the anger that accompanied it forestalled the threatening tears.

She thought of Kyle standing at the living room window, staring out at her as she was leaving. He was barely tall enough to see over the sill. His face had been solemn. He’d raised his small hand to wave before Olivia had pulled him away.

Jax knew she’d keep going back again and again to the house she detested, for Kyle’s sake.

Approaching an intersection, Jax noticed a silver compact barreling along the crossroad.

No. No, you’re not…she implored the driver when the car showed no signs of slowing for the stop sign. She didn’t know if she’d actually spoken the words or if they’d simply reverberated in her mind. Either way, they were futile.

Jax heard the deafening thud as the car slammed into the side of the dark blue Chevy in front of her. Already decelerating, she swerved to the right to avoid a bumper that sailed toward her. If she collided with either of the vehicles spinning out of control or was hit by one of them, it was game over for her.

She didn’t have a chance to think. Instinct took over.

Cutting her speed as quickly as she could, she maneuvered around the cars and debris. She’d expected the lurch when the motorcycle transitioned from the paved roadway onto the soft shoulder at forty-five miles an hour. But expecting it didn’t help her maintain her seat when her wheels plowed into the loose gravel. Kyle’s grave face flashed through her mind as she squeezed her eyes shut, raised her arms to shield her head and went flying.

* * *

“She’s breathing. She’s alive.” Jax heard the distressed whisper from a great distance.

“Keep her still. Don’t let her move.” Another insistent voice floated to her through the gloom. Then all sound and thought faded out.

Time passed. She had no idea how she knew that. An anguished scream jolted her to consciousness. It soared around her and ebbed. When it came again, she was shocked to realize that it tore out of her, since she could hardly breathe. Her right side—head, shoulder, ribs and ankle—felt as if a vise was clamped to her and was ruthlessly tightening, crushing her bones…

The pain was excruciating.

She had to roll over. She had to, or she’d die.

She tried to move despite the crescendo of pain but couldn’t. Something was preventing her. She tried again.

Hands. Someone was holding her down.

“She’s trying to turn.” The whispers were back. “What should I do?”

“Don’t let her move. We don’t know the extent of her injuries.”

Breathing was nearly impossible. Every inhalation was like a knife stabbing into her chest. She was hovering in a world filled with pain. She had to get off her right side. She jabbed the heel of her boot into the soft ground. With another scream, she forced herself over.

“Oh, my God! I couldn’t keep…” was the last thing Jax heard before she was enveloped in a soothing blanket of darkness.

A harsh cry woke her. No. Not a cry. A siren.

“Oh, finally. The fire department…” a disembodied voice said, followed by a scrabbling sound.

“Can you hear me?” A different voice. Nearer than the others. Deeper. It was luring her back into the world of pain. She wanted to block out the voice and retreat to her cocoon of darkness. But the voice was persistent. Every word seemed closer, more pronounced. This voice was somehow compelling. She fought free of the darkness that beckoned her.

“The…pain…” she managed before she gasped for air.

“We’re giving you meds to ease the pain,” he said. A hand grasped her arm, rotated it gently. The contact was reassuring and gentle. “This’ll help,” he added.

Jax forced her eyelids open. She needed to put a face to the voice.

Amidst the scorching bursts of light, she saw him. Dark hair. Strong features. Blue eyes. She felt the prick of a needle in her forearm and an odd taste in her mouth.

She trusted those eyes and believed the voice that promised her he’d take care of her. Then everything went black.

* * *

“Ms. Warren? Jacqueline, are you awake?” a female voice called to her.

Jax didn’t want to wake up. She was comfortable and warm…and exhausted. She tried to snuggle deeper under the covers, but the slightest movement caused pain. She heard a scraping sound to her left, like a chair being pushed back and, coming from the other side, the voice again. “Can you hear me, Jacqueline?”

A warm touch fluttered across the top of her hand.

“It’s Jax,” she said. Her own voice, scratchy and hoarse, sounded unfamiliar. “It’s just Jax.” She struggled to open her eyes but her lids were too heavy. Why were the voices determined to stop her from sleeping, when that was all she wanted to do?

“Good. That’s good.” Another voice, male and vaguely familiar. “She can hear us.”

This voice was different. When she searched her memory, vivid blue eyes came to mind. She twisted her head toward the male voice, swallowing a groan at the ache caused by the minor shift. At least she was able to open her eyes.

Dark hair. Dark complexion. Blue eyes. Eyes she recognized. Then everything blurred.

She felt as if she was trapped in a dense fog, obscuring her vision, hindering her mobility. Her eyelids were too heavy to hold open.

CHAPTER TWO

The next time Jax woke, the man with the blue eyes was sitting beside her bed. He was leaning forward in his chair, an arm resting across the bed rail. She’d seen him before—before she was brought to the hospital—and tried to place him. The fog seemed to be inside her head now, not merely swirling around her.

“Do I know you?” she murmured.

“No. Not personally.”

The compassion in his eyes tugged at something inside her.

“Ryan Hudson,” he said. “I’m a firefighter. I responded to the 911 call about your accident.”

Jax’s mind wasn’t working properly. She remembered an accident, vaguely. But why would a firefighter be in her room at the hospital? She fixated on the part she could process. “The accident? You were there?”

“Yeah.” She felt a light pressure on her arm.

“Can you…could you please tell me about it. My recollection isn’t great.”

“Sure. First off, you should know you did all that you could—”

She grunted. If she hadn’t been so upset by the situation with Olivia, she likely could’ve avoided the whole situation and not been thrown off her bike.

“Hey, I ride, too. How you handled the bike almost certainly saved your life. You can trust me on that.”

Jax closed her eyes briefly. She was tired—agonizingly so—yet she wanted to hear what he could tell her. “Go on.”

“A twenty-one-year-old kid from Carson City, driving his mother’s car without permission, ran the stop sign. He T-boned the vehicle you were following. That other driver had no opportunity to avoid the collision, since the kid rammed directly into her car. For what it’s worth, the kid’s been charged. You managed to steer around the accident. The shoulder was soft, and that close to the intersection, it sloped into the drainage ditch. No way you could’ve maintained control under those conditions and at the speed you must’ve been travelling.”

Jax sighed heavily. “The other driver…and the kid? What’s their condition?” Although she hadn’t caused the accident, she didn’t think she could face knowing that someone had died.

“They’re both okay. The kid was unharmed. The other driver was treated for minor injuries. Nothing serious. She was fortunate that her airbags deployed. Jacqueline, you—”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Sorry. I forgot. Jax,” he corrected himself and touched her hand. “You’re lucky to be alive. You’re hurt and have a number of fractures. Your shoulder blade, ribs and ankle. Fortunately, bones heal.” He shook his head. “A woman—a witness—was trying to keep you still before we arrived. She wanted to make sure you didn’t exacerbate your injuries.” He glanced at her slender form under the covers. “You’re what, a hundred and fifteen pounds or thereabouts?”

She nodded.

“Injured as you were, and more than likely in shock, you threw off her hands. When you were brought in, the doctor said if you hadn’t rolled over when you did, you could’ve pierced your lung with the broken ribs.”

She didn’t want to hear any more about her injuries. She could feel them despite the hydromorphone drip the nurse said they were giving her to control the pain. “My bike? Do you know what happened to it? Is it a write-off?”

He smiled. “It’s in surprisingly good shape. The damage is mostly cosmetic. Nice bike, by the way. I arranged to have it stored at the fire station until you decide what you want to do with it. One of the guys from the station has a flatbed and he transported it. I didn’t think you’d want a regular tow truck taking it and risk damaging it further.”

“Thanks.” Her motorcycle was her pride and joy. She’d worked hard at her landscaping business to earn enough to afford it. Other than the bike, she reinvested almost all her profits in her business. Now, she’d have to come up with the amount of her insurance deductible.

Wanting to ease her dry throat, Jax reached for the cup of water on her tray. Ryan beat her to it. He positioned the straw for her while she drank.

She watched him refill the paper cup from a pitcher on the windowsill and put it back on her tray.

“Why are you here?” she asked, holding his gaze.

“Reasonable question.” The soft smile, juxtaposed against the strong features, transformed his face. His eyes were so appealing and kind, she was mesmerized.

“I came in with a paramedic who needed a hand on another call shortly after you were brought in. When I got here, I asked about you.” His eyes shifted to a spot above her left shoulder. “They told me you’d been admitted, and they couldn’t locate your family.” He looked back at her. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone, after what you’d been through. So…so, I told them I was a friend.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I had to say that, otherwise, they wouldn’t have let me in to see you,” he rushed on.

His last statement unnerved her. She didn’t need anyone. She’d had only herself to rely on as far back as she could remember. At least since Kyle was born.

She closed her eyes again. “I have family,” she said, thinking of Kyle, but obviously her little brother couldn’t help her. “I have a stepmother,” she added, and gave Ryan Olivia’s name, address and telephone number. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

She pretended to fall asleep, hoping he’d leave. Minutes later, she heard the chair scrape back and felt a light touch on her arm.

“I’ll let them know about your stepmother. Take care of yourself.”

Jax listened to his receding footsteps. When they finally faded, she glanced at the chair he’d vacated. She was alone—which wasn’t new for her. She also felt somehow empty and regretful, which was new.

* * *

Ryan stuffed his hands in his pants pockets as he strode to the nurses’ station. A pretty brunette in pale pink scrubs looked up at him.

“Apparently…” He caught himself before he could let on that he didn’t know Jacqueline Warren. He read her name tag. “Linda, ah, I…forgot to tell the police about Jax’s stepmother. She should be informed.” He held out the slip of paper with the contact information to the nurse.

“We don’t usually do notifications. The police department does it. I’ll take the information, though, for Ms. Warren’s file.” The nurse jotted down the particulars and handed the paper back to Ryan.

Placing it in his shirt pocket, he headed to the parking lot. He climbed into his Camaro, lowered the windows and the roof, and put his sunglasses on. With an arm resting on the door, he stared at the hazy mountain ridge in the distance.

What was he doing? Jacqueline—Jax—was the victim of a careless kid’s dumb move. Sure, he felt bad for her. He liked helping people, which was why he’d become a firefighter to begin with.

He’d done his job for Jax, and that should’ve been it. Man, he’d lied about knowing her so a nurse would let him see her. That definitely wasn’t like him. Yeah, there was the connection with the motorcycle. He’d dropped his bike once, too. He’d been lucky enough to walk away from the accident unharmed. It had taught him how exposed you were on a motorcycle. Accidents like Jax’s were rarely the motorcyclist’s fault. He recalled the saying that bikers fit into one of two groups—those who’d dropped their bikes, and those who would. He and Jax belonged to the former category, and he hoped neither of them would be in an accident again.

Jax was pretty, with that shoulder-length chestnut hair and whisky-colored eyes. He could see that, despite being as banged up as she was, but the attraction he felt for her was more than physical. She’d been smart and skilled handling her motorcycle, and she’d been courageous considering how much pain she must’ve been in.

He started his engine and thought of his younger sister, Samantha. She’d recently gotten her motorcycle permit. Did Jax’s attitude remind him of Sam? Nah. It was more than that. Regardless, it didn’t matter since she did have family and didn’t seem keen on having him around. He’d arrange to get her bike where she wanted it. Beyond that, he doubted he’d be seeing her again.

He took the slip of paper out of his pocket. He’d call Jax’s stepmother, Olivia Warren, so Jax wouldn’t be alone when she next came out of her drug-induced sleep.

He unholstered his iPhone and punched in the numbers. “Mrs. Warren?” he asked when a female voice answered.

“Yes.” Her tone was reserved.

“I’m calling about your daughter—”

“I don’t have a daughter.” Her voice turned haughty.

“Sorry, I meant your stepdaughter. Jacqueline.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m with the Golden Valley Fire Department.”

“Why are you calling me?”

He didn’t understand the woman’s reaction. “Jax was in an accident. She’s in the hospital, and will be for a couple of weeks.”

“She’ll recover then?”

“Yes. Eventually.”

“What do you want from me?” was the woman’s response.

“I… I assumed you’d want to visit her. Be there for her.”

“Sorry. I’m busy.”

Ryan asked her if someone else—another relative, a friend or a boyfriend—could be contacted. She said she didn’t have any knowledge of Jacqueline’s personal life and hung up.

Although Ryan surmised that Jax wouldn’t be pleased about it, he felt sorry for her. No, not sorry. Protective might be a better word. He was enraged by Mrs. Warren’s callousness, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d seen enough serious injuries to know that even after Jax was discharged, it would be weeks before she’d be sufficiently healed to resume her normal activities, work or otherwise. She’d be mobility-impaired for a while with the number of fractures she’d suffered.

Jax wasn’t his problem, he told himself, and pulled out of the parking lot.

CHAPTER THREE

The next day was a busy one for Ryan at work. Nothing major—rescuing a cat from a tree, doing a fire safety talk at the local high school and a medical-emergency response—but his day flew by. With Thanksgiving around the corner, he wanted to do some shopping at the end of his shift. His family—mom and dad, sister, Sam, and younger brother, Nathan—had a long-standing tradition of exchanging gifts at Thanksgiving. Small, token gifts, with a cap of twenty dollars each. The idea was to choose things that showed the recipients what the giver was most thankful to them for over the course of the year.

Ryan grinned as he thought about Sam. She was in her last year at Western Nevada College in Carson City with a heavy course load, yet she always helped out with Bongo, his Rhodesian Ridgeback, when his shift required it. She’d wanted a pet of her own for a while, but they weren’t allowed in her college dorm. He planned to adopt a kitten for her from the local shelter as a graduation present. For now, he’d get her a little stuffed dog to let her know how much he appreciated her assistance with Bongo.

Finding a perfect replica of Bongo at the mall, he drove home. The route to his house took him by the Golden Valley Hospital. Approaching it, his eyes were drawn to the third floor, roughly where Jax’s room was located.

He couldn’t imagine not having a close and loving family. His own family meant so much to him. He relied on them without question, as they did on him. He still couldn’t believe the reaction he’d had from Jax’s stepmother.

Barely past the hospital, he slowed and checked his rearview mirror. Seeing no vehicles, he made a fast U-turn. He drove into the hospital’s lot and parked his car. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he stared up at the window that he was sure was Jax’s.

Why couldn’t he let her be? Her wellbeing wasn’t his responsibility.

He shut off the ignition. He was here, so he might as well go see her. As he was about to close his door, he spotted the stuffed dog on the passenger seat. He reached in and grabbed it. Easy enough to pick up another one for Sam.

The little dog tucked under his arm, he walked to the front doors of the hospital.

The same nurse as the day before was at the station when Ryan entered the trauma and orthopedics ward. He leaned on the counter. “Hi, Linda. Has anyone called or visited Jacqueline Warren?” Before she could answer, he realized his question might have sounded intrusive. “I don’t mean to pry. I just don’t like to think of her being alone,” he clarified. “Has her stepmother been in touch?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Linda gestured toward Jax’s room. “You can ask her yourself. The doctor is finishing with her now. You should be okay to go in.”

Ryan straightened. “Thanks.”

He peered inside the room. A doctor was tugging back the curtain around Jax’s bed. Ryan presumed that meant he was done with the examination. Jax perched stiffly on the edge of her bed. Her hospital gown slipped off her left shoulder and Ryan noticed a big, angry bruise high on her back before the doctor repositioned the gown. Based on what he knew about the injuries she’d sustained in the accident, he didn’t think that bruise had anything to do with it. He wondered what could’ve caused it.

After the doctor had helped her settle in the bed, he noticed Ryan in the doorway and motioned for him to enter.

“See you tomorrow, Jax,” the doctor said and nodded to Ryan as he walked by.

“How’re you feeling?” Ryan asked her.

“Like a ton of bricks was dropped on me.” Her expression showed that she hadn’t expected to see him again. “How about you?”

“Fine, thanks.” He couldn’t resist a smile. “I brought you a gift,” he said and offered her the stuffed toy.

She smiled briefly and reached for it. “I like dogs,” she said, as she examined it. “What breed is this?”

“Ridgeback. A toy version of my dog.”

Her smile returned fleetingly. “Thank you.” She nestled the plush dog against her broken right side. “Why’d you come back?”

“To give you that.” Another small lie, he thought. Then he remembered her motorcycle. “And to ask about your bike. What would you like me to do with it?” A dark shadow crossed her face. He could guess what she was thinking—whether she’d stop riding or not. He’d grappled with the same question after his accident, and he hadn’t been injured. He figured it would be a tougher choice for her. “You don’t have to decide anything now. How about if I take it to the Harley shop for you and have them store it until you’re ready to deal with it?”

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that.”

“Have you heard from your stepmother?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. Clearly not a good choice, either, if the forlorn expression on her face was any indication. As he looked at her, his heart ached.

She shook her head. “I’m sure I will at some point.”

If he’d hoped to cheer her, he was failing miserably. “Do you mind if I stay for a while?” he asked. He expected she’d tell him to go; he hoped she wouldn’t.

She shrugged her shoulder and immediately grimaced, no doubt from the pain caused by her broken scapula.

“I’ll go if I’m disturbing you,” he was quick to add. He had no intention of bothering her or causing her pain.

“It’s okay” She motioned toward the magazine lying next to her on the bed. “Fashion isn’t a big interest of mine.” She repositioned the little stuffed dog and smiled again. “You can stay if you want.”

* * *

It surprised Jax that Ryan fell into the habit of visiting her every day. He usually left only after she’d fallen asleep. He almost always brought her a present. A book or a game. Things to occupy her when she was by herself. She introduced him to a couple of her friends who’d come to visit while he was there, and one of the team members from her landscaping business. Once he answered the phone for her when Kyle called, and she explained to him that he was her half-brother.

As the days passed, Jax started to look forward to Ryan’s visits and their conversations. She’d discovered that Ryan was intelligent and had a terrific sense of humor.

With the demands of her growing landscaping business, she seldom had free time and wasn’t accustomed to inactivity. In addition to enjoying Ryan’s company, his visits were an effective distraction from boredom during her long days at the hospital.

She was astonished by how much she was willing to open up to him and talk about matters she’d never discussed with anyone. She rationalized that it was because the accident was traumatic and she needed an outlet. Also, he was essentially a stranger and he didn’t seem judgmental, regardless of what she said.

Few people were aware that Jax’s mother had died from complications of childbirth when she was born, and even fewer knew about the guilt she carried as a consequence. Jax supposed her father had loved her in his own way. The loss of his wife had changed him, she’d been told. He’d never recovered from the grief and he’d become emotionally inaccessible. He’d given her the necessities but not the love she craved so desperately. When he’d met and then married Olivia, Jax had been elated. She’d hoped Olivia would make her father happy and that she would have the mother she’d secretly longed for.

Her hopes were swiftly dashed. Despite being barely seventeen, she’d realized that her father didn’t love Olivia, at least not in the same way he still seemed to love Jax’s mother. Jax told Ryan that she didn’t think her father had married Olivia for love. She hadn’t seen any demonstration of what she’d call love or true affection between them. He must have been lonely after her mother had passed away, she theorized, and had found having a daughter to parent on his own challenging. She suspected the main reason he’d married Olivia was to have someone to care of her.

The tentative bond that had started to form between Jax and her new stepmother unraveled as Olivia realized it, too. She resented Jax’s mother, convinced that she was the reason she was denied her husband’s love. Since Jax resembled her more and more as she matured, that resentment extended to Jax.

After her father’s marriage to Olivia, he’d become physically absent from her life, too, travelling on business more often than he was at home, leaving his young wife and daughter on their own. It was a purposeful distancing, Jax was certain.

Three years later her father and Olivia announced that they were having a baby. Jax was attending college and was away from home by then, yet she hoped again that this would bring them together as a family. She was disappointed once more. With Kyle’s birth, all of Olivia’s attention became focused on the baby, to the exclusion of Jax and her father. The one bright spot in Jax’s life was Kyle. For Jax, Kyle epitomized love—both giving and receiving it, and she tried to see him as often as she could.

Jax confided to Ryan that after her father had died of a heart attack a couple of years earlier, her stepmother had dropped even the pretense of caring about her. While her father had been alive, Jax had tried to get along with her stepmother for the sake of her father and Kyle. Their relationship became intolerable after his death. And that led Jax to divulge why she hated being called by her full name, Jacqueline, since Olivia was the sole person who used it.

If not for Kyle, Jax knew she wouldn’t have had anything to do with Olivia. But Kyle was her brother and he mattered to her.

Jax’s maternal grandmother, the only grandparent she’d known—the only person who’d shown her love—had moved out of Nevada years ago to be with her aging sister. Although Jax didn’t share this part with Ryan, she felt that her grandmother had abandoned her, too. In Jax’s experience, love was a tenuous and elusive thing.

Helping Jax into her wheelchair one day to go outside for some fresh air, Ryan must have noticed the fading bruise on her back while helping her on with a housecoat, because he asked about it. Jax knew it was still there since her doctor had inquired about it, too. Sitting outside in the sun-dappled courtyard of the hospital, she told him about the visit to see her brother the day of her accident. She’d been cleaning up in the kitchen after lunch and had entreated Olivia to register Kyle with Friends for Life, a program that provided male mentors for fatherless boys. No sooner had she made the suggestion than her stepmother had whacked her with a frying pan.

Olivia had apologized immediately for being so clumsy and said she hadn’t been aware that Jax was standing so close behind her when she’d swung around to put the pan away.

It wasn’t the first accident of that kind and they seemed to occur when Olivia was particularly displeased about something Jax had said. Thankfully, they always happened to her and never to Kyle. For all her faults, Jax was certain Olivia loved Kyle. Still, she fervently wished Olivia would sign Kyle up for the program to give him exposure to a father figure and—in Jax’s opinion—a more stable influence.

They talked about Ryan’s job and Jax’s landscaping business, which she’d started after finishing college. Ryan made her feel proud of what she’d accomplished. Jax told him that the company she’d started on her own had grown to the point that she now had five fulltime employees, supplemented by seasonal staff.

The day Jax’s doctor announced she could go home was bittersweet. Jax was glad to be leaving the hospital, but she’d miss her conversations with Ryan. She’d be home and back at work before long. Her team had done everything they could in her absence, but Jax was the driving force behind the business. She needed to return to it as soon as possible to maintain its growth. Diving into work would keep her mind occupied and, she hoped, off Ryan. The thought of not seeing him again or at least not on a regular basis was disheartening.

CHAPTER FOUR

The morning of Jax’s discharge from the hospital, Ryan walked into her room just as a porter was assisting her into a wheelchair. “Big day today, huh?” he greeted her.

She looked up in surprise. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be working.”

“I couldn’t let you leave on your own. I’m taking you home.”

“But…”

“I took the day off. You still need the wheelchair?” he asked. He knew she hadn’t been able to use crutches for her broken ankle because of the fractured scapula. He’d hoped she could get by with a cane and a walking boot once she was out of the hospital.

“The doctor talked to me about it. With my shoulder blade and three broken ribs, they don’t want me hobbling around and putting pressure on my fractures yet. He said I have to wait a couple more weeks before I can use a cane. The hospital is lending me the chair.”

“Just don’t go pulling wheelies in it!”

She laughed, and Ryan felt as if a fist had connected squarely with his gut. As brief as that laugh had been, seeing her face lit up like that had sucked the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t realized how beautiful she truly was until that moment. He was impressed once more by her strength and bravery.

“Here. I’ll get that,” Ryan said to the porter as he was about to push her out of the room. “If a taxi’s been arranged for her, cancel it please.”

The porter nodded.

Ryan swung Jax’s bag, which contained her personal belongings, over his shoulder and wheeled her out to his car.

“How are we going to do this?” Jax asked with another laugh, eyeing his sleek, dark-blue convertible.

Ryan chuckled, too. “I hadn’t considered the wheelchair. Think you can get in there?”

“I believe so. But not on my own.” She smiled, and he felt his world shift. Damn, he was falling hard for her.

“Okay, let’s do this.” He opened the passenger door and adjusted the seat as far back as it would go.

As she balanced on her left leg, he supported her left side, careful not to touch anywhere near her right ribs or scapula. “Lean on me,” he said and guided her into the car. Next, he figured out how to collapse the wheelchair. It slid in his trunk effortlessly, and he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“That worked!” he said with a grin. “Now all I need is your address.”

Jax gave him the address. Familiar with the roads in their community, he didn’t need directions. He drove carefully, circumventing bumps and potholes to avoid jarring her.

Her house was a small rental on the outskirts of town. Looking at the compact and colorful garden in front, he could readily see her skill with plants, even though the flowers were sadly wilted. He assumed that a friend must have watered the ones in planters, as they seemed to have fared better. He chastised himself for not asking if she needed anything done at her house while she was in the hospital. He’d take care of it now and hope the plants would spring back.

But he found they had another dilemma. A short flight of stairs to the front porch made the house inaccessible for Jax. “Is there another way in?” he asked.

“The back patio door is at ground level,” she said. Obviously she’d recognized the problem, too. “My keys are in the side pocket of my bag,” she added.

He dug out her keys and went inside. He came back around to the driveway, eased her out of his car and into the chair, and wheeled her along the walkway. At the patio door, they encountered another challenge. The chair didn’t roll easily over the door tracks, and he didn’t want to push too hard and risk hurting her.

He solved the matter by lifting her out of the chair and carrying her to the sofa. Then he went back outside, wheeled the chair in and locked the door. Turning to her, he felt his heart drop at her distressed look. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No. No.” She waved away his concern with her left hand. “I can’t believe I didn’t consider how I’d get in and out, let alone around.” She pointed toward the narrow staircase. “My bedroom and the main bathroom are upstairs. I didn’t think about how I’d deal with that once I got home. I was so excited about finally being home. Now, I just feel…helpless.”

Her voice trailed off. Ryan feared that for the first time since he’d known her, she might burst into tears. “Hey, don’t worry.” He rushed over and crouched in front of her. “We’ll work it out.”

Her eyes glistened, yet she was tough enough or stubborn enough not to let the tears flow, but he glimpsed her vulnerability.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

“Doing what?”

“Helping me. With everything.”

Ryan rested a hand on her knee. “The honest answer is… I care about you.”

A myriad of emotions flitted across her face, but then she seemed to close in on herself. She drew her knee to the side, rejecting his touch.

He exhaled. “I want to help you. Is that so hard to accept?”

“I don’t need help,” she said emphatically.

“But…” Ryan glanced around. “The door, the stairs…”

“I’ve managed on my own for most of my life. I can figure this out.”

“Do you have anyone you can call if you need to? One of your friends to stay with you?”

She paused before responding. “No. They have their own lives and obligations,” she mumbled.

“If you want to be obstinate, don’t you think it would be best if you did it after you can get around on your own?” Out of character or not, she was being foolish. Why couldn’t she accept what he offered? Ryan’s frustration started to simmer, and he felt he should leave before it boiled over.

Jax shifted on the sofa and winced.

Ryan’s anger was immediately overshadowed by worry. He hated to see her unhappy and in pain. He reminded himself of everything she’d endured. And that was when he realized he was halfway in love with her.

“Let’s try this. Do you have a bathroom on the ground floor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Tell me what you need from upstairs so you can make do on this level until tomorrow. I’m off tomorrow, too—don’t say anything,” he warned when he saw that she was about to object. “I’ll come by around noon. If you still don’t want my assistance—no strings attached—then I’ll let it go. Okay?”

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

He gathered up all the things she wanted and organized them for her in the main-floor bathroom, living room and kitchen. He brought her a blanket and a pillow for the couch. Finally, he scribbled some numbers on a pad by her phone. “Those are my cell, home and work numbers. If you need anything, don’t be stubborn. Call.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “See you tomorrow,” he said and shut the door behind him.

* * *

By the middle of the afternoon, Jax had figured out how to get in and out of her wheelchair without too much difficulty, but the most basic tasks required substantial effort and caused her pain. For now, she was useless at taking care of herself. With the television on to entertain her, she caught herself glancing repeatedly at the paper with Ryan’s phone numbers on it. She was tempted to call him.

She resisted.

Not so much because she wasn’t willing to admit she needed help, which was daunting enough for her. Wanting to call him was about more than that. She missed him, and that scared her.

By the next morning, she was anxiously watching the clock. Other than Kyle, there had never been anyone she wanted to see as much.

She tried to work out how she’d ask Ryan to help her without sounding weak or sending the wrong message.

At the knock on her door, her heart did a little skip and a jump. “Come in,” she called, wheeling her chair closer as Ryan entered. She couldn’t avoid grinning. “Hi.” She pointed at the large insulated bag he was carrying. “What’s in there?”

He raised the bag. “Provisions. I hope you decided to let me hang around. Just in case you tell me to go, I wanted you to have some easy-to-prepare meals.”

Jax felt an uncharacteristic tightness in her chest. Trying to ignore it, she wheeled into the kitchen behind him. “What’s all that?” she asked when he removed a couple of Tupperware containers from the bag.

Ryan looked down at a container. “Lasagna.”

Jax shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. They’re not frozen dinners from the grocery store. Those are homemade, right?”

Ryan smiled. “Correct. Nutritious and delicious.” He lifted another container and checked the label. “This is my mother’s world-famous apple pie.”

“You raided your mother’s refrigerator?”

Ryan laughed, and she felt a tug in her belly, just looking at him.

“Are you kidding? If I did that, she’d skin me alive!” His expression turned serious. “When I told her about you yesterday, she and my sister wanted to make these meals so you wouldn’t have to worry about cooking.”

“You told your mother about me?”

“Uh, huh.”

“And she cooked for me?” Jax glanced at all the containers he’d placed on the counter. “It must have taken hours.”

“Yeah, it did.”

Jax was sorry she’d caused so much work for them. She couldn’t recall anyone going to that much trouble for her. It was unprecedented. “I don’t know what to say.”

“First of all, they didn’t do it to make you feel bad, so stop. Second, a simple ‘thank you’ will suffice. Do you want me to call Mom and you can tell her?”

Jax felt a cold dread at the idea of talking to Ryan’s mother. Her interactions with Olivia had left her ill-prepared to have the type of conversation that would be expected. “Ah, no. How about I write her a note, and you can give it to her for me?”

He studied her carefully. “Okay, but my mom—my whole family—is terrific. You don’t have to be afraid of them.” He positioned a chair beside her and sat down. His vivid blue eyes seemed to look right into her and see what she was feeling. “Jax, not all families are like yours was. Not everyone hits—” He raised a hand when she was about object. “Accidentally or otherwise, and not everyone abandons, physically or emotionally.”

He took her hand in his, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Like it or not, I care about you.”

Those words terrified and thrilled her at the same time, and made her question what she felt for Ryan.

Despite not having a clear answer, from that day Jax accepted Ryan’s aid and his presence without complaint as she continued to heal.

It wasn’t strictly out of necessity. She was developing feelings for him.

Ryan spent a lot of his free hours with her, and Jax looked forward to his visits. Occasionally he brought Bongo, which she loved. But as the days passed, the amount of time he spent with her dwindled. It seemed to validate what she’d feared all along. He was getting tired of seeing her. She dreaded the day he’d stop showing up all together. As she gradually regained her strength, she tried to do what she could for her business, and fortified herself for his rejection of her that was sure to come.

Sitting at her dining room table, laptop in front of her, she reviewed her bank balances. She didn’t know how she was going to make ends meet. Her sole source of income was her landscaping business. She had a terrific group of employees, and she trusted them to do as much as they could. Still, they were a small team and Jax’s extended absence had created workload challenges. Robin, the one who’d been with Jax the longest, had taken charge to the degree that she could. Jax was immensely grateful; however, neither Robin nor any of the others knew landscape design or the business end of it. And whenever Jax spoke with one of them, she had a peculiar feeling that they weren’t telling her everything.

Without her supervision and active participation, she worried about keeping up with her existing contracts, despite her team’s assurances. She’d declined to bid on two potential new jobs that would’ve been lucrative and would have made a big difference to the business. She couldn’t commit to any additional jobs until she knew she could start working again.

A knock on her door interrupted her musing. “Come in,” she called.

Her spirits soared as Ryan strode in, and it wasn’t because of the bright bunch of flowers he carried. She’d stopped trying to talk him out of constantly bringing her gifts as he had in the hospital. She’d also become accustomed to his quick perusal whenever he arrived.

“I’m fine. Honestly,” she said with a smile before he could ask.

“Good. I’ve got something for you.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” she said.

Ryan handed her the colorful bunch of roses, lilies and carnations. “Oh, yeah. Here.”

She inhaled their sweet scent.

“I’ll get a vase for them, then I’ll show you what I was talking about.”

He came back from the kitchen with a vase full of water, took the flowers from her, plunked them in the vase, and set them in the center of the table. He positioned a chair next to hers and took out his iPhone. Scrolling through some settings, he handed it to her. The picture on the screen was of a lovely perennial garden with a cute little gnome holding court in the midst of a ring of hostas.

Jax turned questioning eyes to Ryan. Grinning, he slid his arm behind her to rest on the back of her chair. He scrolled to the next photo, drawing Jax’s attention back to the screen. Then he scrolled to the one after that. Understanding dawned and she started to flip through the pictures herself. When she got to an unrelated picture of a fire scene, she stopped and looked up at him.

“These are my projects,” she said in an unsteady voice.

“Yeah, they are. What do you think?”

“They look great. Better than I’d hoped.” She studied him. “Why do you have these?”

“Let’s say I have a greener thumb than my mother gave me credit for.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

He chuckled. “When you called Robin a week and a half ago while I was here, I jotted down her number from your redial list.”

She frowned as she tried to comprehend what he was saying.

“I called her,” he went on, “and told her I wanted to help. She gave me the addresses where your crew’s been working. For the past ten days or so, I’ve been helping out as much as I could. Once or twice, I brought along some of the guys from the fire station. Based on what I’d overheard, I knew you were concerned about meeting your commitments, so I didn’t want you to worry about that or lose any clients. You haven’t missed a deadline.”

“Why didn’t you tell?” She was stupefied.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “If I’d said anything to you about wanting to do it, you would’ve said no, correct?”

“I… I suppose.” Jax was a little queasy. No one had ever done anything so sweet and considerate for her before. Well, except for Ryan’s mother and sister, and the meals they’d prepared, but this was so much more. “That’s why you haven’t been here as often,” she murmured. “You’ve been out working at my project sites when you weren’t here or on shift.”

He reached out to brush a strand of hair off her cheek. “Yes.”

“Can I see the pictures again?” she asked hesitantly.

“Sure.”

He handed her the phone, and she looked at them slowly, zooming in on a detail or two on some of them.

“I couldn’t have done better myself,” she said when she was finished, and handed the phone back to him. “I’m sorry, I can’t afford to pay—”

He cut her off. “Don’t insult me, Jax.” He kept his tone light, but she could see the spark of indignation in his eyes.

“I don’t know how to…repay you.”

Now it was mischief that lit his gaze. “I happen to know of a way!”

“Okay,” she responded, with a note of apprehension. “How?”

“Well, this weekend is Thanksgiving…”

It hadn’t occurred to Jax. Her family had never celebrated the holiday, even when her father was alive. They certainly hadn’t since he’d passed away. She didn’t understand how that was relevant to what they were talking about. “Yeah. So…”

“I’d like you to spend Thanksgiving with me and my family.”

“I can’t do that!” Driven by panic, the words tumbled out.

He stroked a hand along her arm. “Like I’ve told you before, my parents are good people. So are my brother and sister. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“I… I don’t want to impose.” She’d never experienced a Thanksgiving celebration personally. She could barely recollect a Christmas that wasn’t strained and unpleasant.

“No imposition. They want you to join us. You’ll like them. Trust me.”

“I… I…” She didn’t know how to get out of it gracefully after everything Ryan had done for her, not to mention his mother and sister. The oddest part was that she wanted to go. She wanted to discover what it would be like to be part of a real family.

“Why don’t you think about it? We’ll have more than enough food so you can decide at the last minute.” Ryan’s eyes were encouraging. Understanding.

It made her want to go that much more.

In the end, Jax agreed. Although it hadn’t bothered her before, she didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving alone. Most compelling of all, she found that she actually had things to be thankful for this year. She was alive. She was recovering. She had Kyle. Most unexpectedly, Ryan had come into her life.

CHAPTER FIVE

“We’re so glad you’re joining us for Thanksgiving!” Ryan’s mother, Paula, said and hugged Jax. It was Jax’s first time using a cane instead of the wheelchair, and Ryan stood close by to support her, especially when Bongo bolted by her in his enthusiasm to greet Sam and Nathan. Jax smiled feebly over his mother’s shoulder. Olivia definitely hadn’t hugged her like that.

Ryan had described his family’s tradition of exchanging small gifts and the meaning behind them. Jax had gone with what she knew best—plants. Based on what Ryan had told her about his family, she brought small, potted plants for each of them. She’d grilled Ryan about their personalities to help her choose the types of plants. For Ryan, she’d deviated from that theme. Aware of his love of dogs, she’d gone online and ordered a ceramic St. Bernard rescue dog with a little barrel of first-aid supplies around his neck. It was intended to show her appreciation for everything he’d done to take care of her these past weeks. A way to demonstrate how much it meant to her.

“Usually we do the gift exchange after dinner,” Ryan told Jax after he’d helped her settle on the sofa. “This year, we’re breaking with tradition and doing it now. I think you’ll understand why in a little while.”

Jax was fascinated as she watched the gift exchange. The Hudsons shared such an obvious and easy affection. She laughed along with them and took part in their good-natured teasing. She was delighted to receive the gifts they each gave her. Since they didn’t know her, the presents were related to her business or her healing process. But as happy and included as she felt, there was an emptiness inside her, a yearning for the love and belonging these people took for granted, and she’d never experienced. Her thoughts turned to Kyle and she was overwhelmed by remorse, knowing that with Olivia it was merely another day for him. It fueled her conviction to ensure that he didn’t grow up missing out on normal family events and celebrations the way she had. And it made her that much more determined to get Olivia to participate in the Friends for Life program.

Samantha’s laughter at the small stuffed dog—identical to the one Ryan had given Jax in the hospital—drew Jax’s attention back to the group.

When all the gifts had been exchanged, Ryan took Jax’s hand in his.

“There’s one more gift to be shared this Thanksgiving, and it’s for you.”

It was only then that Jax realized she hadn’t received anything from Ryan yet.

“It’s a two-part gift,” he explained and placed a white envelope on her lap. When she reached for it, he stopped her. “This is part two. You’re not allowed to open it until after part one.”

Everyone in the room was watching her expectantly. Samantha covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle a giggle.

Goosebumps formed on Jax’s arms. In her experience, being the center of attention had never been good. She felt a strange mixture of trepidation and excitement.

“Ready?” Ryan asked.

She nodded and linked her fingers together to keep from fidgeting.

“Okay. Stay there and don’t open the envelope,” he said with mock gravity. He exchanged a conspiratorial look with his mother before walking out of the room.

Jax watched him until he turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She kept her eyes on the doorway. She could sense that everyone else was looking at her.

A moment later, Ryan stepped back into the room, and Jax felt her mouth drop open. Her little brother was holding Ryan’s hand. Seeing her, Kyle made a whooping sound and ran over, wrapping his small arms around her.

Jax returned the embrace, and blinked rapidly to clear her vision.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Ryan exclaimed and it was echoed by everyone.

“How…how did you get Olivia to let you bring him here?” Jax’s voice was scarcely audible. She couldn’t imagine her stepmother approving. Olivia hardly allowed Jax to take him anywhere.

“Before we get to that, we’ll move on to part two,” Ryan responded.

Samantha called Kyle over and introduced him to Bongo, to keep him busy for the time being. Kyle excitedly slid down to sit on the floor next to the dog and play with him.

With a last uncertain look at Ryan, Jax extracted the single sheet of paper from the envelope. It was a certificate stating that Ryan Hudson had been named Kyle Warren’s official mentor through the Friends for Life program.

“Oh, my God,” Jax breathed. Her hand shook as she replaced the sheet of paper in the envelope. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared up at Ryan.

“Olivia agreed to this?”

“Yeah, with some…persuasion,” he said cryptically. Leaning over and murmuring in her ear, he added. “I told Olivia I was aware she’d hit you.” When Jax sent him a shocked look, he continued. “I also told her I’d bring it to the attention of my police friends, unless she met a couple of conditions. First, she will never strike you again, nor try to hurt Kyle. Second, she had to sign Kyle up for Friends for Life with a special request that the application be fast-tracked and that I be assigned as his mentor.”

Jax was incredulous. She wiped at the moisture on her face and her smile wavered, until she finally started laughing. Ryan sat down beside her and lifted Kyle into his lap. Jax hugged them both. She couldn’t have imagined being this happy.

* * *

After dinner, coffee and dessert, and with Kyle sleeping soundly on the sofa under Paula’s watchful eye, Ryan led Jax outside to the back patio to steal some time alone with her. The black-velvet sky was dusted with stars. A cool breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees bordering the Hudsons’ backyard, and she smelled the sweet scent of the potted frangipani shrub beside the glider where they sat.

Ryan snuggled her against him with an arm around her shoulder. “How are you enjoying the evening?” he asked.

“Your family is…” She struggled to find the right word. Finally, she said, “extraordinary.”

“Yeah, I’m very lucky. I’m immensely thankful for my family every single day.” With a fingertip under her chin, he tilted her face toward his. “I’d like you to think of us being here for you and Kyle, too. Can you do that?”

She gave him a hesitant nod.

“Can you go so far as believing that I’m going to be part of your life—yours and Kyle’s? Not just for now, and not just when it’s convenient?”

She looked at him with eyes that weren’t quite dry. For someone who didn’t cry, she seemed to be making up for lost time. With hope and fear and disbelief all jumbled up inside her, she nodded again.

Ryan lowered his head to touch his lips to hers.

The kiss was gentle and oh, so tender. Jax had been kissed before, but she’d never felt what she was feeling now, deep inside—something wonderful and profound. It crowded out the other feelings of uncertainty and unease until what remained was hope and a sensation so joyous and all-consuming she had trouble putting a name to it. As Ryan drew back, she saw the very thing she was feeling reflected in his eyes.

She knew it was love.

Ryan spoke softly in her ear, giving voice to what she’d recognized in his eyes, before brushing his lips once more over hers.

The last vestiges of doubt faded away.

Jax knew without reservation that Ryan wouldn’t let her down, as others had. She could finally trust someone completely, unconditionally.

She knew that what they had was precious and rare, and should be cherished. It would thrive and blossom with time and care, just as her gardens did.

And for the first time, she had something—someone—to be truly grateful for on this special day of thanks.

Ryan had kept his promise.

Be sure to check out the books in Kate James’s K-9 TRILOGY miniseries!

WHEN THE RIGHT ONE COMES ALONG

WHEN LOVE MATTERS MOST

WHEN I FOUND YOU

Available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere. And look for Kate’s next Harlequin Heartwarming book, coming in 2017!

Crab & Cream Cheese Appetizer by Kate James

Ingredients

1 8-ounce package cream cheese, softened

½ teaspoon horseradish

8 ounces backfin crabmeat

1 tablespoon milk

2 teaspoons chopped shallots

Salt and pepper to taste

2 ounces slivered almonds

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

2. Blend all ingredients except almonds together.

3. Place in a shallow baking dish.

4. Sprinkle almonds over top.

5. Bake approximately 20 minutes, until slightly browned.

6. Serve with warmed naan bread or crackers.

Wedding of His Dreams

By Cari Lynn Webb

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Recipe: Creamed Corn

CHAPTER ONE

Had the Pope himself told Ruthie Cain she’d go from strolling the dignified grounds of Oxford University in England to scooping poop at the Marina Dog Park in San Francisco in less than forty-eight hours, she’d have laughed until her ribs ached and tears dampened her cheeks.

Her side ached, but not from laughter, rather from Duke, her sister’s one-hundred forty-five pound Great Dane, who strained against his leash. Unfortunately Duke had failed his dog training on boundaries and only Ruthie’s firm grip on his leash prevented him from escaping across the Golden Gate Bridge to another dog park deep inside Marin County. Duke squatted near Ruthie’s boot and turned his massive head over his shoulder to glare at her.

Sophie Callahan, Ruthie’s best friend since the ninth grade when they’d spent an entire semester being picked last for the volleyball teams in PE, peeled a doggie waste bag off an industrial sized roll. “When I think about the perfect bachelorette party location, I do not think dog park. I think male dancers in firemen attire and an open bar.”

“But you have to admit that this is perfectly Becca.” Ruthie watched her twin sister bounce barefoot through a group of friends near the picnic tables.

“It’s certainly your sister’s style.” Sophie handed her the doggie bag. “But I still prefer the kind of wedding you had planned for yourself. It was that perfect traditional, romantic wedding that every girl dreams about. Until the jerk ruined it.”

The jerk was Justin Cook, Ruthie’s personal runaway groom. She tightened the knot on the waste bag, pinching off the memory that still stung even nine months later. “If my groom had bothered to make an appearance, the wedding might have been perfect.”

The day would’ve been perfect. But the marriage, well, that would not have been perfect. Ruthie’s six month sabbatical teaching an industrial psychology class at Oxford had granted her the distance she’d needed for her broken heart to heal. The sweet older couple who’d offered Ruthie room and board in Oxford, had helped Ruthie realize she wanted a marriage, not just a wedding. And her ex-fiancé’s subsequent quickie courtroom civil union to Claire Slater one month after he’d abandoned Ruthie at the altar and his even more expedient separation from Claire had reaffirmed Ruthie’s belief in karma. The only lasting damage from her failed nuptials was the occasional tweak to her pride at her own naïve impulse to listen to her heart.

“You and Justin weren’t made for each other, not like Becca and Steve.” Sophie scooped another pile of waste into a bag, muttering about dog park rules and negligent pet owners.

Ruthie smiled as her sister’s fiancé, Steve, who picked up Becca and swung her around. Her sister’s bright laughter floated like fairy dust around the happy couple, softening Steve’s hard angles and dark edges and making Becca glow. “Theirs is that rare, once-in-a-lifetime, kind of love.”

“Do you think it’s only available to a certain kind of person?” Sophie tossed the doggy bags into a green metal bin. “People like Becca and Steve.”

“And not us, you mean?” Ruthie and Sophie were the behind the scenes crew, the ones no one noticed at the theatre, but without whom the show would fail. “It’s out there if you’re willing to risk everything for it.”

Becca waved to them, her deep blue eyes all the more vibrant with her new platinum blonde pixie cut. No one chopped off their waist length hair days before their wedding. Becca had taken the gamble without regret or tears or doubt. Becca had always defied convention and had always come out ahead. Ruthie had taken a risk once with Justin and she’d wound up standing at the altar alone.

A motorcycle revved into an empty space in the parking lot. The rider swung his long leg over the bike and unstrapped his helmet. Matthew Wright, Steve’s best man and the only other man who’d ever tempted Ruthie’s heart, had just arrived. But she’d long since graduated high school, earned her PhD and vowed never to trust her childish daydreams again.

“I would’ve risked a few things for a date with Matt Wright back in high school.” Sophie nudged her elbow into Ruthie’s side. “Admit it. You had a crush on him too.”

“You’re confusing me with Becca.” Ruthie watched Matt set his helmet on his motorcycle seat and scrub his hands through his dark brown hair. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew they were hazel like a root beer float. And just like a kid surprised with that root beer float, there was always amusement lingering in their depths as if the world was his personal playground and he laughed his way through life. He’d certainly joked his way through high school. She said, “You know full well that crushing on a boy isn’t in my genetic make-up.” But her heart remembered, once upon a time…

“You were always more interested in your studies than the cute boys wandering the halls.” Sophie laughed. “So I took it upon myself to look for you and me both.”

Steve slapped Matt on his back before Becca wrapped him in a tight hug. Ruthie squeezed Duke’s leash. She’d never been as unrestrained and open with people as her sister. She’d never wanted to launch herself into a guy’s embrace, not even Justin’s. But something about Matt made Ruthie wonder if he’d catch her if she ran to him.

But guys like Matt and Justin wanted girls like Becca. She’d do well to remember that simple fact.

“Matt looks even better than he did in high school.” Accusation pierced Sophie’s tone as if he’d somehow wronged her.

Ruthie agreed. She hadn’t seen Matt in person in almost two years. And the pictures she’d seen posted by his family on the internet had failed to capture the strength in his shoulders, his quiet confidence, and the deep rumble of his laughter that hop scotched over her senses.

“He’s definitely the hottest best man to date. I’ve been to over a dozen weddings this year so I’m qualified to judge.” Sophie adjusted her baseball cap. “Maybe this weekend I can get Matt to lecture me about something other than installing a security system and changing the kennel design at The Pampered Pooch.”

Matt turned around and his grin shifted into a wide smile aimed at Sophie and Ruthie. Duke strained on his leash. Ruthie felt the same sudden pull and pressed her palm against her stomach. That twist in her stomach was indigestion from Becca’s wheat grass and carob chip brownie bites. It certainly wasn’t from some latent crush on Matt Wright. Hadn’t her heart learned enough of a lesson with Justin?

“The wedding party is all here.” Becca handed out paper cups to each of the guests. “Time to make a toast.”

Sophie nudged Ruthie again. “I want to be clear that an open bar at a bachelorette party does not mean spirulina and ginger-lemon juice shots.”

“If you pour it into the back of your throat, you miss the bitterness.” Ruthie took a paper cup from her sister. Duke ignored the food on the tables. He shared Ruthie’s love for real potato chips and fried chicken, not kale chips. And apparently her interest in Matt as well. He tugged on his leash to keep Ruthie walking around the tables, toward Steve’s best man.

She reminded herself that charmer Matt Wright was wedding material: a fun dance partner, someone to retrieve a drink for her and her escort down the aisle. But Matt wasn’t marriage material; he hadn’t been cut from that particular fabric bolt. And she’d promised herself the next guy would love her for who she was, not the woman he wanted her to be.

She studied the green juice in her cup, hoping that the ginger-infused coconut water fortified her immune system and her resolve.

* * *

Matt squatted down and rubbed the golden coat of Lady, Steve and Becca’s eight-month old Great Dane rescue puppy. But his focus remained on Ruthie as she circled around the tables, Duke straining on his leash. Matt took in everything from her thick, loose braid that hung over her left shoulder to her scarf wilted against her belted jacket to her ease with the pony-sized dog that easily outweighed her by a good twenty-some pounds.

When he bent down, Duke thrust his black and white head in Matt’s face. He caught the dog’s drool with his hands before the dog dampened his t-shirt, wiped his wet palms on his jeans and stood. “Ruthie, you look exhausted.”

“I’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours thanks to flight delays.” She toasted him with her shot cup. “Becca made energy drinks so I’ll be fine.”

He muffled a snort. She’d be fine when her head dropped against a pillow and a down comforter covered her. She’d be fine when she closed her eyes for twenty-four hours straight. She’d be fine when she let someone take care of her. “Everyone would understand if you wanted to head back to Becca’s. You don’t need to stay here.”

“It’s Becca’s special week.” She fussed with Duke’s collar and avoided looking at him. “It’s about my sister, not me.”

In fact, it had been about Ruthie earlier in the year, she’d even had her own special week planned like Becca. Except Ruthie had gotten engaged to the poorest example of a groom there ever was. Matt knew. He’d used his connections at the bureau to research Justin Samuel Cook, long time San Francisco resident and day trader, who’d traded his morals for money and Ruthie for another woman on their wedding day. “I can take you back.” I can take care of you.

She glanced at his motorcycle and then at him. “On your motorcycle?”

Her tone hinted at her dismay, but something like interest flashed in her pale blue eyes. He’d gotten her full attention. Finally. “Best way to experience the city is on the back of a bike.”

It was also the best way to discover why he was compelled to bring laughter into Ruthie’s life. In high school he’d been content with her scowls and glares and occasional shy smiles. He’d known even then that Ruthie was special and he hadn’t been quite good enough for her. Yet he’d always believed he had time to win over Ruthie one day. When he was ready. But then she’d almost married another man.

He wasn’t standing by and watching that happen again. Not without first finding out if Ruthie felt the same connection he did.

“You only have one helmet,” she said.

She’d always been practical. Always analytical. Always intriguing. “You can borrow mine.” While he borrowed some time alone with her.

“I need to stay.” She yawned into her cup then forced a smile. “Becca and Steve need help with the dogs so they can visit with their guests.”

Becca handed Matt a shot that he passed on to Ruthie. “Here, you need this more than I do.”

She refused to take the cup. “Scared of a little coconut water and ginger?”

The teasing tone in her words pulled her mouth into a real smile. The kind she rarely shared with him.

Energy shots hardly scared him. But he feared Ruthie would only ever see him as that aggravating boy from freshman chemistry that had shattered a beaker with dry ice on her lab station, stole her pencils and colored in her notebook to get her attention. She’d always ignored his attempts to make her smile in high school, too focused on her studies to be distracted by the under-achievers like him.

He swallowed the juice then leaned in to whisper in her ear. “No, I’m not scared. But I have to wonder is it me or the motorcycle that scares you more?”

She tossed back her juice and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t scare that easy.”

A scratch sounded in her voice as if she’d swallowed a handful of lemon seeds. Matt grinned. He’d gotten to her. It was enough for now.

Becca linked her arm through Matt’s and wiggled between Ruthie and him. “What are we whispering about?”

“Wedding details,” Matt said.

“Ruthie has everything planned,” Becca said. “She keeps me sane. It’s one of the many reasons I love her.”

Ruthie made him insane-it had to be insanity that made him compare every woman he’d meet to the Ruthie Cain standard-and that was one of the many reasons she fascinated him.

“But now I get to surprise you.” Becca grabbed Ruthie’s arm. “You’re sitting beside the pilot for tomorrow’s flight to the lake. How great is that?”

Matt rubbed his chin and watched Ruthie’s face pale. Her cheeks looked as if someone had injected the green energy juice directly into her skin. Clearly she’d yet to outgrow her fear of flying.

Ruthie crumpled the empty paper cup in her hand. “I planned to rent a car and drive up there.”

“That’s silly.” Becca scooted to the side to let Steve in. “Zack learned to fly before he learned to drive. It’ll be fun.”

“Besides, we’re two days away from Thanksgiving; you won’t be able to rent a car now.” Steve wrapped his arm around Becca’s waist.

Ruthie looked across the picnic table at Sophie. “When are you heading up?”

“Ella and I won’t leave until early Saturday morning.” Sophie glanced at Becca. “Sorry I’ll miss the rehearsal dinner.”

“We’ve already made plans,” Becca said. “Steve and I will meet you at the start of the trail around ten a.m. on Saturday. We can walk through the ceremony with Ella as much as she needs.”

“I can help that morning too,” Matt offered. The courage in Sophie’s nine year old niece, Ella, humbled Matt. He’d do anything for the little girl. He was surprised the only lasting effect of Ella’s too early arrival into the world was her impaired eyesight.

“Count me in too,” Ruthie said.

“Perfect,” Becca said. “Why don’t you and Matt bring the dogs so they can get accustomed to the scent of the grounds before the ceremony?”

“The dogs?” Ruthie cleared her throat as if those lemon seeds had gotten stuck again.

Apparently Ruthie wasn’t aware that certain plans had changed. She’d always hated disruptions to her schedule. Matt handed her another shot. “Didn’t Becca tell you that she amended the guest list?”

Ruthie glared at him. He grinned back.

Becca waved her hand between them. “It’s nothing. Guests were having trouble boarding their pets for the holiday week so I suggested they bring them along.”

“You invited dogs to your wedding?” Ruthie asked. Her voice was more of a wheeze like a deflated squeaker inside a stuffed bear that Duke had punctured with his teeth.

“It’s outside and the estate allows animals.” Becca hugged Steve. “And it gives us a chance to include Duke and Lady too.”

Ruthie rubbed her forehead, even her braid seemed to be unraveling. The woman needed sleep, not something else to keep her awake with worry. Matt said, “We don’t need to deal with the ceremony now. We need to talk about the plan for tomorrow. What time is your flight?”

“We have a pre-wedding photo shoot tomorrow morning then we’ll head to the airport around one,” Becca said. “Matt, you can pick up Duke and Lady around noon. We’ll have coolers packed with the salmon for tomorrow night’s dinner and the organic Turkeys for Thursday.”

Ruthie looked at Matt. “You’re driving to Tahoe?”

“I’m transporting the dogs and the turkeys,” Matt said. “The front seat is open.”

Her eyes narrowed, her chin tipped up. She’d heard the challenge in his voice. “You’ll definitely need help.”

“So I’ll pick you up at noon too,” he said.

Ruthie nodded.

“Then it’s a date.” Matt caught the football Steve tossed him and walked away before Ruthie could argue or change her mind.

CHAPTER TWO

Matt opened the door to Becca and Steve’s townhouse the next afternoon and called out to Ruthie.

“You’re late.” Her curt reply came from the family room. “And now we’re off schedule.”

“I had to pick up two more organic turkeys over on Market. They didn’t open until ten.” Matt stepped into the family room and coughed to cover his laughter.

Becca knelt on the floor beside Duke’s futon bed. Duke was stretched out on his back across the twin-sized futon, his head rested on the hardwood floor. The dog had been mummified with what Matt assumed was Becca’s veil, given the yards and yards of gem-covered white netting wrapped around the dog’s body. Duke’s white tipped tail thumped against the wall at Matt’s arrival. Lady tilted her head at him from her spot on the couch. A half-eaten notebook flopped sideways in the puppy’s giant paws.

The spa music coming from the cell phone beside Ruthie’s knee stopped and a pleasant voice filled the silence. “Thank you for calling Bay City Pet Hospital. Can you tell me again what your dog ingested?”

Ruthie picked up a gold box with one corner chewed off. “Chocolate.”

“Dark or milk chocolate? Baking chocolate? White chocolate?” the receptionist asked.

The perky lilt in the receptionist’s voice failed to cover her condescending tone. Matt grinned. Used to be that Ruthie reserved such a tone for him when she was trying to get him to stop copying her notes in science class. He’d always liked the fluid precision of her handwriting. Every sentence complete with the proper punctuation, no detail forgotten. No matter what he’d done, she’d never lost her composure. Never let go. Never gave in to him.

He still wanted to make her let go, more now than he ever had in high school. In high school she intrigued him, now she needed him.

Ruthie Cain needed him to show her that there was more to life than living between the lines of her precious notebooks.

Ruthie scowled at the phone. “Chocolate.”

The bite in Ruthie’s voice had the precision and speed of a nail charged from a nail gun into a two by four.

“How much, ma’am?” The receptionist injected more cheer into her voice.

“A box.” And that nail gun fired again.

Silence reigned for a second before the calming music swirled from the tiny phone speaker again.

Ruthie snatched up her phone. Not even the delicate black and gold hearts decorating the phone case were enough to keep Ruthie from strangling the device with her tense grip.

“It’s in French, ma’am, like I already informed you.” Ruthie shouted at the phone. “I can’t read it and I stink at the metric system. I just want to know if my sister’s dog is dying.”

The panic in Ruthie’s voice stopped Matt’s laughter. “He’s fine.” He couldn’t say the same for the veil.

Ruthie tossed her phone on the floor and untwisted the veil from Duke’s front paw. “You don’t know that unless you have a vet degree hidden in your tool belt.”

A dark drool spot spread across the white material near Duke’s chin. His tail thumped against the wall. Matt picked up the mauled box and scanned the ingredients on the torn insert. “It’s milk chocolate.”

“There’s no English on that box,” she said. “I brought them home from Paris.”

“Still there isn’t enough dark chocolate in the ganache to do a dog Duke’s size any real harm.”

She pushed on Duke’s side to get him to roll over. The dog stretched out as if to encourage her to rub his belly. “You don’t speak French.”

“Not like I did when my father was married to Adele Barrett. She was wife number three, but you were already on the east coast when they got together.” Matt pulled the notebook away from Lady, saw wedding notes printed in sharpie on the cover and tossed it back to the puppy.

“Hey, we need that.” Ruthie tried to stop Lady as she sprinted into the kitchen with her prize. “That’s the to-do list for the week.”

“The only thing to do today is enjoy the drive to Tahoe and then relax tonight in the hot tub that Becca promised me is on the back porch of the house she rented.”

“Those aren’t actual tasks,” Ruthie said. “And a trip to the vet wasn’t on the list, but I built in extra time as a contingency.”

“This isn’t an emergency,” Matt said. “Your schedule is intact.”

“Just because you took French in ninth grade and remember a few words doesn’t make you an ingredient expert.” Ruthie stopped trying to move Duke and picked up the phone with the hold music still playing. “Hello, vet lady. I’m glad this is an emergency. I should’ve called Sophie.”

“Sophie can’t speak French,” Matt said. “She sat next to me in Mrs. Faust’s class. Whenever Sophie read a passage out-loud, we all covered our ears. I’ve never seen a teacher cringe like that since.”

“Okay, Mr. French Professor.” Ruthie strode into the kitchen and returned with another cookie box that she handed to Matt. “That’s a new box. What does the ingredient list say?”

Matt untied the gold ribbon from around the box. Inside, pale purple satin pockets cushioned a dozen pastel colored cookies. It was like a color swatch for a baby’s nursery, sweet and soft and sappy. Everything he imagined Ruthie hid inside her. “I should’ve known you’d like such a pretentious cookie.”

“It’s a pastry, not a cookie. There’s an art to macrons. It takes years of practice and an attention to detail to understand how to create the perfect one,” Ruthie said. “You’ll think three dollars for a quarter-sized macron is insane, but people pay it. You know why? Because they’re worth every bite.”

Ruthie was worth something to. She just didn’t believe it. Matt stuffed a lime colored pastry into his mouth.

“No more.” Ruthie grabbed the box. “We’re supposed to eat these while we sip champagne and get ready for the wedding ceremony on Saturday.”

“Champagne and pastries.” Matt considered swiping another one from the box. Pastry or cookie or whatever, he liked the pistachio flavor a lot more than he’d expected. “That’s your plan for the pre-wedding ritual?”

“What’s yours? Donut holes and beer.”

“Considering we have to hike a mountain to reach the ceremony site that isn’t a bad idea.” Matt rubbed his chin and eyed Ruthie. “You are aware we have to hike, right?”

“The bridesmaids have matching pink tennis shoes for the trail.” Ruthie sighed and picked out a yellow cookie then took a small bite. “But it can’t be much of a hike or Sophie wouldn’t have allowed Ella to be the flower girl.”

He wasn’t going to spoil her illusions. Her sister’s wedding clearly flustered all of Ruthie’s rigid rules for what a wedding should be. “Arrangements have been made for Ella.”

Sophie and Ella had called Matt last night. Ella had asked if he’d be her personal lumberjack and carry her up the trail to the ceremony. He couldn’t refuse Ella and Sophie’s relief made him think he should’ve been the one to offer first.

Ruthie looked at Duke, who’d fallen asleep on the bed. More drool leaked onto the veil and his hind legs twitched as if he chased something in his dreams. “He seems fine.”

“Duke did Becca a favor.” Matt picked up her cell phone, ended the call and handed it to her. “The veil would’ve gotten caught on a tree branch and given Becca some serious whiplash.”

Ruthie stroked her fingers over the lengthy material. “But it’s gorgeous. It would’ve been stunning on a bride like Becca.”

The veil belonged on a bride walking down the long aisle of the cathedral or on a bride standing on the stone steps of some historic castle. The veil belonged on a different woman, in a different place, at a different time. A woman like Ruthie with her sophisticated braids and classic taste and romantic illusions. “That fabric would be a great playground for spiders and ants. It’d be like living bridal art.”

“Okay.” Ruthie yanked her hand away. “We’ll leave it here.”

“Maybe we should take it. If the mosquitoes attack during the ceremony, we could wrap the entire wedding party inside.”

Finally Ruthie grinned. “I have bug spray already packed.”

“Of course you do,” Matt said. “But a little extra protection never hurt.”

Ruthie laughed and pulled her chewed up planner from under Lady’s lax body. The puppy had passed out mid-chew. “She ate all of my lists, even my shopping list.”

“We can make another shopping list during the drive.” Matt took the notebook and tossed it on the couch. “I have the turkeys and potatoes already in the truck. What else do we need?”

“About another hundred things.”

“Then let’s hit the road.” Matt walked down the hallway toward the guest bedroom. “Where’s your bag?”

He stopped in the bedroom doorway and burst into laughter. Ruthie’s room looked as if it had been ransacked. He’d been called to a few locations after the bureau had searched the premises and those rooms looked much the same as Ruthie’s did now. Nothing remained inside her duffle bag. Her suitcase had been knocked from the wooden stand in the closet. A make-up bag lay open on the floor containers of every size littered the carpet. A trail of clothes led from the bed to the bathroom.

Ruthie rushed into the bedroom and gasped. “Duke stays here.”

“He’s part of the wedding party,” Matt said. “Maybe it was Lady.”

“She stays too.” Ruthie stuffed several shirts into her duffle. “No dog should poop out a small animal. That just isn’t normal.”

“He might be passing a few socks in the near future too.” Matt held up one of Ruthie’s socks, its partner nowhere in sight.

“I’m staying.” Ruthie swiped a pair of pink shorts from the floor.

“You’re part of the wedding too.”

“I won’t be missed.”

“You’re the maid of honor.” Matt moved toward the bed, tiptoeing around her clothes as if he walked through a minefield. As it was, he’d noticed how tiny those pink shorts had been. And he recognized that more than jeans and t-shirts littered the floor. And it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine Ruthie in those shorts or even a few of the more colorful pieces leading into the bathroom. But Ruthie stayed between the lines. She wasn’t supposed to own anything fire engine red.

He focused on her braid, another intricate twist that curved around her head, beckoning him to unravel the honey strands. Was that sweat dampening his forehead? “You’ll be missed.”

“No one will miss the killjoy with her bug spray and doggy waste bags and worries.” Ruthie stuffed more clothes inside the bag. “Even my sweet, put-together mother believes a hike to her daughter’s ceremony will be refreshing and thrilling.”

Matt jammed his hands into his jean pockets. “She’s just excited about her daughter’s marriage.”

“Mom is excited one of her daughter’s won’t be an embarrassment.” Ruthie stopped packing her bag. Her chin dropped toward her chest. “And this time, if anything happens at the ceremony, mother’s friends won’t be there to witness her humiliation.”

Matt seized Ruthie’s shoulders and turned her to face him. “You aren’t an embarrassment to your family.”

“I was left at the altar.” She fisted her fingers in his shirt and pressed her knuckles into his chest as if trying to push some truth into him. “Alone at the altar with the priest, a three piece orchestra and a ten person bridal party.”

“Justin Cook is the embarrassment.” He tipped her chin up with his fingers. “Never you.”

“Did I mention the four hundred bewildered guests seated in the pews. Every one of them left staring at the pitiful, abandoned bride?” Her words dipped into a whisper as if the memory squeezed the life from her voice.

“That’s not what I heard.” He framed her face with both of his hands. “I heard there was a stunned bride left at the altar who handled herself with class and dignity.”

“All those motorcycle rides have damaged your hearing.”

He ignored her. “I also heard the groom’s own family called their son a crazed lunatic for leaving Ruthie Cain and that they enjoyed the after party with the other guests.”

“We’d already rented the ballroom and paid for the DJ. Dad thought it would be a waste not to make use of the venue he’d paid in advance for. The Cook family always liked a good party.”

“I also heard the bride was stunning, but her real beauty, well, that shone through when she took the leftover food from the reception to the homeless shelter in her wedding gown.”

“All that food was going to be wasted,” Ruthie said. “The gown hardly mattered at that point.”

“But you mattered, Ruthie,” Matt said. “To all those guests who stayed to support you afterwards. To all those people you helped that night at the shelter.”

“But…” Ruthie said.

Matt pressed his thumb against her mouth. “You matter.”

Her lips tensed beneath his touch as if she readied her argument. He held her stare, kept his gaze fixed on her pale eyes, willing her to listen. Willing her to believe him. She mattered, more than she could ever know. Finally the tension shifted from her face, her palms relaxed against his chest and her gaze softened to the color of the ocean in the height of the summer. One of his favorite sites.

He released her, walked to the door and turned back. “Ten minutes and we’re hitting the road.”

* * *

Ruthie’s front teeth bit into her lower lip. Matt’s voice boomed in the family room as he commanded Duke’s attention. The scratch of nails against the hardwood was followed by Matt’s quick laughter.

He’d told Ruthie that she mattered. She believed him. She’d discovered that truth in London, discovered she was worth more than being left at an altar. Worth more than Justin Cook could ever have given her. She pressed her fingers against her bottom lip where Matt’s touch lingered. She mattered, but did she matter to Matt? Could she matter to him?

But that was only her heart misleading her again. She blamed jetlag for her weak resolve.

She didn’t want to matter to Matt Wright.

Ruthie crammed her clothes into her duffle and shoved the pink glittery tennis shoes on top. She used her foot to hold everything inside while she pulled the zipper closed. Nothing fit like it had before Duke attacked her carefully packed bag and before Matt attacked her carefully guarded heart.

“Five minutes,” Matt called out from the hallway. “We’re going to need every minute of the three and a half hour drive to write down your extensive shopping list.”

Ruthie was going to need every minute of the three and a half hour drive to remind herself why charmer Matt Wright was all wrong for her.

CHAPTER THREE

“Ruthie,” Matt said.

There was more warmth in the way Matt said her name than in the sun shining through the passenger window on her arm. “No, you can’t have another macron.”

“You’re very talented, but mind-reading is not one of your skills.” He grinned as he changed lanes. “You can’t know I was going to ask for one.”

“I saw your greedy look when I set the bag in the car,” she said. “Admit it. You liked them.”

“I like you,” he said.

And that warmth flared through her whole body. “Have you forgotten that I’m immune to your charm?”

“But you weren’t immune to Justin’s charm.” His grin faded. “And I was always sincere.”

“You were sincere with every female in our high school.” She grabbed his jacket from the consol and covered herself.

“I was nice to everyone in that school,” he said. “There’s a difference between all those other females and you.”

“What is that?”

“I wouldn’t have left you at the altar.”

“You’d never get close to an altar in the first place,” she said. “It doesn’t suit your lifestyle.”

“Ouch. What is my lifestyle exactly?”

“Motorcycles, freedom, and no commitments.” She pointed to the back seat where Duke and Lady slept. “I bet you don’t even have a pet, not even a gold fish.”

“Did Justin have a dog, two cats and an aquarium?” he asked.

“Not that it’s your business, but no, he didn’t have pets either.”

“And yet he was qualified to walk down the aisle with you.”

“We matched on paper.” She put Matt’s jacket on, determined to capture that warmth from a few minutes ago.

“Love can’t be coded like a computer program or formulated like a theory in a science lab.” He reached over and pulled her braid from inside the thick jacket. “It’s never that simple.”

His hand settled on the steering wheel. She kept her hands in her lap. But she wanted to reach for him. To bring him back to her. Actually, what she needed was to bring back her sanity. This was charmer Matt. “If it had been that simple, I would’ve guessed ahead of time that Justin wanted my sister, not me.”

“He told you that?” Matt asked.

“His exact words were: Ruthie, you’re good as you are, but you’d be even better if you were Becca.” Still miles away from the mountains and already a chill settled deep inside her. She switched on the seat heater, zipped Matt’s jacket to her chin and opened her notes ap on her phone. “I need to recreate the shopping list.”

Matt remained quiet. Duke and Lady snored in the back seat. Finally heat seeped into her thighs and lower back. With each breath Ruthie inhaled Matt’s spicy cologne. He surrounded her and if she closed her eyes, she felt as if he held her. Everything inside her calmed and settled. She checked the recipes she’d e-mailed herself for the week and added ingredients to a new shopping list. She fell asleep in the middle of re-constructing her list.

The bang of a car door startled Ruthie awake. She blinked and watched Matt drop her cell phone in the cup holder.

He smiled. “You need another ten hours of sleep to get fully caught up.”

“That was the best or longest sleep than I’ve had in days.” She glanced at the mountains. “We made it then?”

“With time to spare. Goodbye grocery store, hello rental house.” He started the car as Duke thrust his head between the front seats. “I think the sooner the dogs can stretch their legs, the better.”

Duke nudged her shoulder. “You’ll be free in a few minutes,” she told him.

“I got everything I could on the list,” Matt said. “They didn’t have whole nutmeg pits and asking the cashier was futile. So I picked up ground nutmeg and parsley instead of parsnip root.”

Ruthie rubbed her eyes. “What recipe is that for?”

Matt typed the rental house address into the car’s navigation system. “The Hochseitsuppe.”

“You mean the wedding soup Steve’s grandmother wants to make, but that recipe was written in German.”

“There’s this thing called the internet.” He pulled out of the parking lot onto the main street.

“I didn’t even know how to spell it until last night and I can barely pronounce it now.”

“It’s because you’re breaking it up into too many syllables.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him. “And you know this because you took German in high school. Oh wait, German wasn’t offered as an elective.”

He laughed and turned right onto Cedar Drive, following the navigator’s directives. “I took it in college.”

“Why? So you could speak to your father’s fourth wife?” She winced at the peevish note in her voice. But he’d known so much about her failed wedding; about her. Shouldn’t she have known he spoke more than one language with more than a passing fluency? What else had she gotten wrong about him?

“Patsy Ryan was number four and she has only Irish blood in her veins. If you want to talk to her, you pour her a Guinness and refrain from mentioning my father’s name.”

“Then why did you take German?” she asked.

“I wanted to.” He stopped at a stop sign, checked the navigation. “And I needed it for my language arts minor.”

“You rehab apartments to the glory of their former historical period.” And he rode motorcycles. And he traveled. She knew that from the pictures she’d seen of the house transformations he’d been a part of. Whenever Becca had referred to Matt over the past year, she’d always added: when Matt gets back in town. Her mother had informed her that Matt’s last girlfriend had moved to Nashville with her country singer boyfriend a month before Ruthie’s disastrous wedding day. And for the first time since high school, both Matt and she were single at the same time in the same city.

“I work for Prestige Restorations when I’m home.” He turned around in a driveway and made a left on a street marked private.

They passed through an open black rod-iron gate and continued on a single lane drive up the side of the mountain. Becca had sent Ruthie pictures of the private property with a main house that slept twenty and a guest house for ten. The reception would be at the main house with its four fire pits and outdoor kitchen. The five acre property would allow the dogs plenty of space to run. Ruthie felt like she knew more details about the rental estate than she did about Matt. “What about when you aren’t home?”

“I consult on special assignments as a translator.”

“That sounds like a secret agency thing.” She toyed with the zipper on his jacket and laughed. “Like a movie where you get called in to speak to crime lords and terrorists, but you can’t share the details or you risk national security.”

“I can’t share the details.” He parked the car in the half moon driveway and opened his door. “The calls do come in from a special agency, but it’s nothing like the movies.”

“You’re serious.”

He jumped out and smiled at her. “Better get moving if you plan to be back on schedule. Becca and Steve arrive in less than an hour. And Becca’s salmon won’t cook itself.”

Ruthie grabbed Duke’s and Lady’s leashes and released the pair in the fenced in back yard while Matt unloaded their bags. Ruthie picked up several shopping bags and followed Matt inside, staring at his back. He’d been around the Cain family since before his muscles started straining against his t-shirts and before heat wrapped his smiles in more than simple charm. Their mothers had become fast friends while chairing several parent committees at their children’s middle school and that friendship was even stronger now. Matt’s parents were the only non-blood relatives invited to the private ceremony on the mountainside.

And Ruthie thought she knew Matt. He’d blown up beakers in the science lab more than once and had used three dozen rolls of toilet paper to cover the Cain’s front yard on Ruthie and Becca’s sixteenth birthday. He drove a motorcycle, broke hearts, and thought almost everything was a pretty good joke.

Matt did not save the world. Or find suitable substitutes for Ruthie’s shopping list. Or make Ruthie’s heart flutter like it usually did when she’d proven one of her research theories right.

Who was she kidding? She’d always found Matt fascinating. From the moment he’d crashed her friend’s pool party at the country club with a cannonball off the high dive. He’d been much easier to avoid back then. He’d never stepped inside the school library and she’d spent most of her free time researching something in the non-fiction section. College had granted an even wider divide. Still everyone around Ruthie, including her own mother, had kept her informed of Matt’s adventures.

Except no one had mentioned the important things. Maybe because Ruthie had never asked.

She’d never wanted to know. She’d wanted to believe there was nothing more to Matt than a great smile and carefree attitude. She’d needed to believe Matt was committed to the right now, not the long haul. Because falling for a charmer like Matt meant she’d stopped listening to reason and started listening to heart.

But being left at the altar once was bad enough. She didn’t think she’d survive a second time.

She set the grocery bags on the counter. It was time to set Matt back in the restricted section and return to her schedule. She had to plan dinner tonight, a Thanksgiving Feast tomorrow and a wedding in four days.

CHAPTER FOUR

“The Petersons plus their three teenage sons and Mr. and Mrs. Nash will be joining us for dinner.” Nita Cain, Ruthie’s mother, filled three wine glasses with chardonnay.

“Don’t forget we told the Henleys and Mr. Burke to join us at breakfast this morning.” Mrs. Wright, Matt’s mother, picked up one of the glasses.

Ruthie stabbed a potato with her knife. “That’s ten extra people.”

“We couldn’t let them be alone on Thanksgiving, Ruthie.” Her mother sipped her wine. “Since we’re celebrating this week, we need to open our doors to all of the guests.”

Opening the doors for a drink and appetizer was one thing. Ruthie hadn’t planned the main meal with so many extra guests. She whacked the potato in half.” Any other last minute additions?”

“I remember Nita texting you about the Harrisons and the Kents yesterday.” Steve’s mother clinked her glass against the women’s glasses.

Ruthie changed the add-count to fourteen. She’d never received a text about any additional families. Already the mothers covered for each other as if they were old friends. How was it possible for the three women to become so close in less than a week? Steve’s parents lived in Arizona. Up until this week, the parents had only been to an occasional dinner together. But the three couples had traveled up to Tahoe last Saturday and were all staying together in the guest house. And it was clear the three couples had formed a tight bond.

Mrs. Wright walked over to kiss Ruthie’s cheek. “It’s lovely not to have to cook on Thanksgiving.”

Ruthie wouldn’t know. She’d suggested a caterer for the rehearsal dinner, but her mother and Becca wouldn’t hear of such a blasphemous suggestion. The Cains never catered Thanksgiving dinner. Her mother had argued it just wasn’t done. Becca had argued that no caterer could prepare the organic menu she’d planned. And Ruthie had argued that rehearsal dinners should not be scheduled on Thanksgiving Day. She’d lost and somehow not only become the recipient of the particular recipes the families requested for Thanksgiving, but also the chef.

The mothers drifted onto the back porch with the other guests, leaving Ruthie alone in the spacious kitchen. She frowned at the empty wine bottle and looked out the wide window above the stainless steel sink. Matt stood in front of the commercial grill that took up most of the outdoor kitchen, a dozen people crowded around him. Matt waved a pair of tongs over his head as he captured his audience’s attention with his story. Even Sophie had defected to the fun team. She stuck a chip into the guacamole dip and laughed along with the rest of the crowd.

Matt finished his story and glanced at the window. Ruthie stepped back, but she saw him hand the tongs to Zack and head toward the porch. Three breaths later and he strolled inside the kitchen, one of those iced beer mugs in his hand.

Ruthie dumped a cutting board in the sink and ignored him.

“You should come outside with everyone. There are real chips out there,” Matt said. “I know because I bought them myself. They’re disappearing faster than any of the others.”

“There’s too much to do.” She wiped off the island, trying to wipe away her urge to run outside with him.

“No one said you can’t have fun too.”

She tossed the rag on the counter and faced him. “You can’t just laugh up more turkey.”

“It’ll be fine.”

She wanted to believe him. But he twisted her up, trying to lure her away from her responsibilities. Thanksgiving was never fun. It took hard work to stay on schedule and make sure the evening proceeded without any glitches. What if she went outside with him? “What if there isn’t enough food and people are hungry?”

He set his beer mug on the counter and shrugged. “Then we’ll order pizza.”

She wasn’t going anywhere with him. He didn’t understand. “That’d ruin Becca’s carefully planned meal.”

Matt pointed at the sliding glass doors. “It doesn’t look like Becca will mind.”

Ruthie watched her sister sway through the guests, hugging one, pressing a kiss to another’s cheek. Becca was doing exactly what she did best and Ruthie was doing the same.

“You miss the good moments when you spend so much time worrying.”

Ruthie crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Matt. “Becca tells me the same thing all the time.”

“Maybe you should listen to her.”

“Maybe you should talk to Becca if you want to hear her,” Ruthie snapped.

He came right into her space then, backing her up against the island before leaning in. “I am not Justin Cook, Ruthie. Don’t compare me to him. Don’t put me in the same box. Heck, don’t even put us in the same thought inside your head.”

“I never…”

“You just did,” he said. “And we both know it. Now it stops.”

She lifted her chin. “Tell me you never once thought Becca was the better twin.”

“I thought Becca had more spirit. I thought Becca commanded a room. I thought Becca was impulsive.” He set his hands on the granite island behind her, boxing her in. “But better, no I never thought she was better.”

“Not even when I told Ms. Berg you copied off my test in biology.”

“I did copy your answers.” One side of his mouth lifted, laughter rolled through his voice. “How do you think I passed that class?”

“Don’t you have any guilt?”

“Only regret that you weren’t in more of my classes.” He traced his fingers down her temple and hooked her hair behind her ear.

She leaned into his touch, as if he’d hooked her heart and reeled her into him. “I wasn’t prom queen.”

“You were Valedictorian.” He tucked more hair behind her other ear. “Now you have a PhD and I should call you doc.”

His hands rested on the back of her neck, his touch light, gentle and distracting. “I like conducting research more than I like being with people.”

“I only care that you like being with me.” Matt held her stare. “That you want to be with me.”

“I make plans. I survive by lists. I live by the rules. And you…”

“I want to be with you.” He wasn’t laughing. His lips were firm and set, his hazel gaze serious and intense.

“Why?”

“Because you hate motorcycles. Because you inspire me to be better. Because I love you.” Surprise flashed across his face, finally drawing his smile wide. “Because when I say I love you, Ruthie Cain, it feels right. It feels more right than anything in my life.”

He’d twisted her into too many knots. Certainly she’d misheard him. She couldn’t think with him so close. She couldn’t breathe around the swelling in her heart. She couldn’t…

“Ruthie,” he said.

There was more than warmth in his tone, more than longing in his voice. Was he going to say it again? Did she want him to say the words again? She held her breath, even her heart paused mid-beat. Everything inside her waiting for him to continue.

His gaze shifted above her head then settled back on her.

“Yes?” Her own voice carried no more strength than a puff of steam.

One corner of his mouth tipped up, distracting her. “Your water is boiling over.”

Ruthie turned and watched the water spill over the sides of the two large pots on the stove. The gas flame hissed. She raced around the island.

Matt laughed. “If you needed my help in here, you only had to ask.”

“I’ve got it.” She turned off the heat, wishing it was as easy to extinguish the emotions boiling over inside her.

“Do you?” he asked.

His serious voice pulled her focus to him. He wasn’t talking about the dinner or the wedding or anything to do with her sister. She needed to think, not skip across rainbows like her heart wanted to. “Yes, I’ve got it.”

“Make a new plan, Ruthie. Write a new list,” he said. “Add a new rule. Do whatever you have to because I meant every word. And now you’re going to have to deal with it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Ruthie shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tried to absorb the picturesque view behind Becca and Steve. The wedding site was breath-taking with its panoramic view of the lake and the white puffy clouds filling the sky. A perfect day for a perfect couple.

Everything should have been sigh worthy. But Ruthie winced. Her pink tennis shoes had rubbed blisters into her heels on the two mile trek up the mountain trail. And each time she moved, her skin throbbed. But the pain was not nearly as distracting as the man standing beside her.

Every time she inhaled, she breathed in Matt’s spicy cologne. When she moved, she only ever seemed to bring herself closer to him. And every time she tried to listen to the ceremony, she only heard Matt’s whispered confession that he loved her. Loved her.

She’d wimped out last evening and avoided being alone with him. She’d wanted to reason things through first and then she’d talk to him. She’d planned to do just that when she’d crawled into bed last night. And instead she’d stared at the ceiling with a goofy grin on her face as her heart skipped around in her chest. She’d done very little thinking and way more sighing last night, more than she’d done when her sister and Steve exchanged their own hand-written vows only moments ago.

Ruthie needed to focus. She pressed on Duke’s back, forcing him into a sitting position. Lady flopped near Matt’s boots and chewed on his shoe laces. Across the clearing Ella sat in a camp chair Ruthie’s father had carried up while Sophie stood behind her daughter. The mothers each sat in their own camp chairs beside Ella, with their husbands standing sentry behind them. Matt’s mother held Mr. Wright’s hand, while Ruthie’s mother pressed a tissue underneath her sunglasses. Steve and Becca bowed their heads while the minister lifted his hand over them and murmured a prayer.

Matt leaned over and brushed Ruthie’s hair off her shoulder then whispered in her ear. “No dogs.”

“What?” she whispered back.

“Dogs won’t be allowed at our wedding.” He twisted a strand of her hair around his fingers.

Her insides twisted with each curve of his fingers. The words: our wedding flip-flopped through her, clattering and repeating and disrupting every rational thought.

Matt continued, as if he never noticed her slight sway or her small gasp. “Hiking boots will not be a requirement. No mountains either. You need to be high on me, not from lack of oxygen.”

She suffered from a certain lack of air right now and it had nothing to do with the elevation. “Where will we be then?”

“A place with candlelight and stars.” He unwound her hair, then started all over again. “Some place historical like we stepped into one of those history books you used to like to read.”

Ruthie tightened her grip on Duke’s leash, searching for something to ground her. She felt like she might be floating towards those stars now. “Anything else?”

“Ella should be our flower girl.” He smiled over at the little girl swinging her feet in the chair. “She’s the most precious addition to this wedding, except she needs a real princess gown and tiara, not that simple cotton thing your sister put on her.”

Ruthie wiped her hand over her mouth to cover her laugh. Matt’s mother glanced over at Ruthie and Matt. Her round sunglasses hid her eyes, but her mouth dipped into that familiar mother’s frown of disapproval. Ruthie nudged Matt, but kept her focus on the ring exchange between Becca and Steve. “Your mom wants you to behave.”

“I am.” He released her hair, set his hand on her waist and pulled her fully into his side. “Did I mention your white dress and veil like the one Duke ruined only longer so it feels like you stepped into your own fairy tale.”

The minister announced Becca and Steve as husband and wife then invited Steve to kiss his bride. The parents clapped, except for her mother who wiped at both of her eyes.

“Sounds like you have it all planned,” Ruthie said. “Where will you be while I’m stepping into my own fairy tale?”

Matt tipped her chin up with his thumb. Their lips were only inches apart. His gaze was intense and consuming and full of love. “At the altar waiting for you.”

And then it happened. Maybe it was the elevation. Or Matt’s touch. Or the magic in the moment. Whatever the reason, Ruthie stopped thinking and listened to her heart. Followed her heart. Finally spoke from her heart. “It’s always been you.”

She pulled him to her and covered his mouth with her own, putting all of the love in her heart into the kiss. They were both breathless when she pulled away. “I love you too.”

He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth and grinned at her. “Do you need to check your list to make sure?”

“I don’t have to.” She laced her fingers with his. “It’s written on my heart.”

“And mine now too.” He kissed their joined hands.

Steve shook hands with his new father-in-law and Becca rushed over to Ruthie and Matt. She handed Ruthie her sunflower bouquet. “Looks like I won’t need to toss this tonight after all.” She hugged Matt then Ruthie. “About time you two discovered what we’ve always known: you were made for each other.” One more hug and Becca returned to her new husband.

“Sunflowers are nice, but hardly inspiring of a fairytale.” Matt squeezed their joined hands.

Ruthie set her head on his shoulder. Matt was her inspiration. Already she pictured a cascading bouquet of wisteria and lilies and ivy. He’d described her perfect wedding, but she intended to plan the wedding of his dreams.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, Cari Lynn Webb has a touching novella, The Matchmaker Wore Skates in Harlequin Heartwarming’s Make Me a Match. Available in paperback and digitally for order online at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

Creamed Corn by Cari Lynn Webb

My sister-in-law gave me this recipe for creamed corn after I spent a Thanksgiving holiday with her family. After I married and started a family, I added this dish to our Thanksgiving and it quickly became a family favorite. It’s been on our Thanksgiving table the past sixteen years. Hope you enjoy!

Yield: About 11 cups

Ingredients

2 packages of frozen corn (20 ounces each)

8 ounces heavy whipping cream

8 ounces milk

1 teaspoon salt

6 tablespoons sugar

Pinch of pepper

2 tablespoons butter, melted

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Directions

In a large saucepan combine the first six ingredients and bring to a boil. Boil for 5 minutes and then blend in the melted butter and flour. Heat through and serve.

The Sweetheart Tree

By Rula Sinara

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Epilogue

Recipe: Gluten-Free Butternut Squash Cheesecake

CHAPTER ONE

Officer Austin Shale had slapped handcuffs on plenty of wrists—most of them hairy—but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined locking them on the soft, slender wrists of Serena Myss. Well, maybe he had imagined it once or twice, but not with her shooting daggers at him with those piercing, hazel eyes of hers. She glared at the handcuffs he’d taken off his belt.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, giving the rope that bound her to the giant oak in the field behind their houses a fierce tug.

She’d tightened enough knots around her that it was going to take something sharp to cut her loose and drag her to jail. If she was still the same spunky Serena he’d grown up with and fallen for, that would likely involve some kicking and screaming.

After the all-night shift he’d pulled, this was the last kind of morning he needed. Three years of struggling to get over her and finally letting go…and now she returns home? Not that he hadn’t heard about her adventures. Unearthing things like illegal dumping and environmental villains had made her an alumni magazine and local newspaper favorite in College Town, Pennsylvania. She’d even written a popular piece on the “bureaucratic” withdrawal of funding by one university department head for local alumna Dr. Bekker’s work with elephants in Kenya. A piece that had gotten Bekker an outpouring of support. Of course, Serena’s protests and methods had put her on the wrong side of the law a number of times. Nature’s Robin Hood.

Too bad he wasn’t a tree. She’d be all over him.

Keeping himself grounded was impossible with her lavender scent enveloping him. Five feet away from her was dangerously close. Don’t go there. She still blames you for Gale’s death. She’ll never stay. Gale’s memory twisted in Austin’s chest and hardened his resolve.

She glanced at the gun in his holster.

“Don’t test me, Serena. You have thirty seconds to start cooperating or you’ll be spending the day before Thanksgiving in a jail cell.”

He looked back at her parents, standing at the edge of their backyard where he’d asked them to stay. Giving Mr. and Mrs. Myssan order, even if he was in uniform, wasn’t something he could bring himself to do. They’d known him since he was in elementary school, when he was taken in by his grandparents, their next door neighbors. They’d watched him play year after year with Serena and her younger brother, Gale, in the empty field behind their two homes…the field that was home to the oak tree she was trying to save. They were there for him at his grandparent’s funeral last year. Serena never made it.

He’d needed her. God, he’d needed her. But he knew that facing him at another funeral was the last thing she could handle.

He gripped the handcuffs, stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. “Don’t do this to them. They miss you. Talk to them. Please, talk to me.”

Her eyes flicked to where her parent’s stood and, for a second, her frown softened and he could have sworn she was about to give in. She straightened her back and shifted her feet, clearly uncomfortable in her tree-tied position but too stubborn to admit it.

“There’s nothing to talk about unless it involves calling off the chain saws. Do that and I’ll talk,” she said, tossing her head toward the equipment and crew who were waiting impatiently on the far side of the property where the remnants of an 18th century stone cellar stood. She pressed her lips together and tipped her chin up, daring him to comply. She was offering him the one thing—only thing—he’d wanted since she’d left town. A chance to talk to her. Closure.

He used to find her blatant challenges and attempts at reverse psychology endearing and fun. But they weren’t flirting now. He came toe-to-toe with her and her breath hitched. Good. She wasn’t the only one who understood psychology. Everyone had a weakness.

“Why this tree, Serena?” he whispered. “With all the trees in the world and habitats you could be off trying to save, why are you here?”

She swallowed and stared at him. He stared back. She always had the most amazing eyes that reflected the colors around her, from gray-blue to earthy green with flecks of gold.

“Because,” she said, clearing her throat. “Quercus alba can live as long as six-hundred years. This tree is well over two hundred and deserves to live out its life. And it’s a food source and shelter to numerous species of wildlife and every part of it down to its roots has become an integral part to the micro-ecosystem of this field and the creek that runs through it. Factoring in the number of—”

“Stop it,” Austin said, stepping back. “Spew all the environmental facts you want at me. I’m not an idiot. That contractor over there obtained all the permits and clearances necessary. If there was a reason this place couldn’t be developed or this tree taken down, I’d have heard about it. In fact, there are a few disease and root related reasons why it should be removed. And you and I both know your reasons for trying to save this tree aren’t entirely altruistic. Why don’t you admit why you’re really here.”

“Your contractor is lying. There’s nothing wrong with this tree. The group that contacted me didn’t mention any records of studies being done to assess the environmental impact. And what do you mean you would have heard about it? Why would you know about the development application details?” she asked.

She raised her head and her lips parted and he itched to push away the strands of her straight, black hair, caught on the corner of her mouth. She looked at him as if he’d earned all her forgiveness and then some.

“Unless you were trying to fight it. You were, weren’t you, Austin? You tried to stop this? You don’t want this tree coming down any more than I do. You’re only here now because you’re doing your job. Austin, call them off. We can stop this together.”

Austin’s jaw ached and the pulse in his temple was beginning to pound. His suspicions were right. She didn’t know. Whoever in that habitat-saving student organization over at the university had alerted her to the tree coming down, they’d done so at the last minute without fully researching the situation. That was their MO. Jump in before it’s too late, then quickly nail down reasons to delay construction or development. But her mentioning no record of studies bothered him. He’d been assured all procedures had been followed.

The hopeful look on her face and yearning in her voice just about killed him.

Together.

He scanned the almost bare branches overhead. A cold breeze forced the last of its red leaves to flutter down, reminding himself of where he really stood with her—in the past. He inhaled then gave her his best, don’t-mess-with-me cop face.

“There is no together, Serena. Not since you left. I own this land now. I’m the one having the tree taken down and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

* * *

There was nothing natural about steel bars. Not when the wrong person was behind them. Serena pulled her knees up to her chest—shifting slightly to avoid the cot’s rogue spring—and slouched against the holding cell wall. She looked at her expedition watch then covered her face with her hands. Three hours and counting. Austin. She dug her nails into her scalp and swallowed back a frustrated sob. The oak would be dead by now…whittled down to its trunk with its branches lying in wait for the wood chipper or a firewood stack. By the time she was freed, it would have had its stump ground down. Nothing would be left. Their tree was gone…just like her brother.

She blinked back tears and took a sip from the small, plastic water bottle she’d been given, but nothing could drown the anger that burned in the pit of her stomach. Why this tree, Serena? She tilted her head back and looked aimlessly at the smudged ceiling. As if she would have answered that. What did he want her to say? That their tree meant something to her because deep down she still loved him? That what they once shared still meant something to her? Did he expect her to just forget about his role in her brother’s death, along with every dream she’d had about her and Austin’s future together?

She folded her arms and pressed them against her stomach. No matter how much she’d kept in touch with her parents, seeing them in person again and feeling their arms around her had sent her heart into free fall and had made her ache for the past. But life here could never be the same. Wishing for that would be just as futile as trying to bring Gale back or trying to save their tree. Which is why she’d stay only long enough to spend Thanksgiving with her parents—she owed them that—then she’d be off to her next cause.

She sensed Austin had walked up to her cell before he spoke.

“Had enough?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure if she was hearing condescension or fatigue, but his voice irked her either way. He’d clearly had enough of her. The feeling was mutual.

You’re lying to yourself again.

“Missing me already, Austin? Or does seeing me behind bars feed your ego?”

She really did want out, but she pulled her long hair over one shoulder then picked at her jeans as if she had all the time in the world. He scrubbed his hand across his military short hair. Outside in the sunlight it had looked lighter than she recalled, but in here it was as dark as his cocoa brown eyes.

“You may find it hard to believe, but we’ve all missed you and we’re glad to have you back home, but it would have been nice if you’d come back for the sake of family, rather than work,” he said, unlocking the cell and motioning for her to come out.

She leapt off the cot, slowing her pace to casual as she passed him. He grabbed her hand and the rough warmth of his fingers enveloping hers made her knees lock.

“Not so fast. I promised your parents I’d bring you home.”

“You promised my parents? You chop down my tree and lock me up then offer to drive me home. That’s rich. I’ll walk.”

“Your tree? I thought it was our tree.” He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the hall. She wanted to brush him away. She also didn’t want to brush him away. He didn’t need to know that every time he came within inches or touched her she wanted to take in his scent and his strength, bury her face in the crook of his neck and cry.

“Not since you killed it,” she said.

He flinched and she knew he didn’t miss the underlying reference to Gale’s death.

The voices of people heading in and out of the station blended with the rustle of paperwork and tapping of keyboards. Other than the few words it took for him to sign off and for her to reclaim her purse, neither of them said anything until they’d cleared the buzz and bustle of the place. Even with the afternoon sun reflecting off the cars in the parking lot, there was a November chill in the air. Serena zipped up her turquoise hoodie and stuffed her hands in the pockets.

“I’m parked over there,” Austin said, pointing to a silver pick-up truck and guiding her over. Serena walked over with him and got in without a word. Truth be told, her legs ached and a ride home with Austin wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d ever endured. She climbed in when he unlocked the door.

“Why didn’t you press charges?” she asked, when he got behind the wheel. “Why bother taking me in at all if it was really all in your hands? You could have simply dragged me into my parents’ living room and saved yourself the paperwork.”

“You were trespassing and obstructing development. And technically, you declined that option by being stubborn.”

“You weren’t technically on duty, if I overheard correctly in there.”

Austin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and waiting for car to pass before veering onto College Town’s main road.

“No, technically I was on my way back to the station, but I had to check on someone on the way and that’s when I got the call from my project manager. You’re lucky they called me first, knowing I’m a cop, or you would have had a whole lot more to deal with.”

“And I would have gotten publicity that would have resulted in pressure on you to hold off on construction. You’re smart, Austin. So’s your slick contractor.”

“Don’t judge someone you haven’t met.”

She shook her head and looked out the passenger window. The town had changed a lot in the years she’d been gone. They passed an intersection she almost didn’t recognize, until she realized it was because one corner had gone from woods to shopping center and the opposite corner now had a gas station. Development really changed a landscape. It was depressing. She wished she could go back in time and change all the bad things that had happened.

“Why’d you do it? Buy the land behind our homes? To raze it?” she asked, resting her temple against the cold window.

“I didn’t buy it. Apparently, my grandfather did decades ago and had been sitting on it as an investment, only he never bothered to liquidate it. He never told me. Come to think of it, that’s probably why no one ever chased us—or any of the other neighborhood kids—off or filed complaints when we played out there. According to his lawyer, my grandparents began treating the land like it didn’t exist when it nearly tore their marriage apart. Grandpa wanted to sell it to help pay for the added expenses of my mother’s outstanding medical bills and me moving in with them as a kid and Grandma refused. Said she’d traced some of her ancestry to the place. I didn’t find out any of this until their wills were read. In the end, they left me the house and the two acres bordering the back.”

Serena stole a long look at him as he focused on the road.

He’d changed in the past three years. A few more creases around his eyes…and a harder set to his jaw. There was an overall intensity about him that wasn’t there before. He used to be so easygoing. Confident without being cocky.

They’d both had the advantage of living at home through college, since the campus was only fifteen minutes away. They were practically joined at the hip those four years, even more than they’d been before. They knew each other. Understood each other. But she’d never experienced loss until Gale’s death. Austin had lost his dad in the military as toddler and his mom to cancer when he was ten. And Gale…Austin had been like a big brother to him

Serena’s hands went cold. Death scared her. He was so much stronger than she was. She took a deep breath and hoping she could keep her voice steady.

“I’m sorry, Austin. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the funeral and I’m sorry that you lost them. They’d always treated me like family. I loved them, too. My parents told me about the accident when I called home, but I just couldn’t—” Her voice cracked and she turned away.

“I know,” he said.

She quickly swiped at a tear, pretending to look back at some of the town’s early holiday décor that lit every lamppost and intersection. She hadn’t even called him. She’d sent a card. An impersonal gesture for someone she’d once loved. Her only excuse was that she was a coward. She couldn’t bring herself to experience the bone-crushing sadness she’d felt at Gale’s funeral.

Anger was a much easier emotion. It energized her and gave her purpose. It had also left her lonely and isolated from her family. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure if the anger had been worth it.

After avoiding returning home for so long, she didn’t think she deserved any welcome warmer than a jail cell.

“My grandparents really loved you, too,” Austin said. He reached over and put a comforting hand on her thigh. His tenderness was confusing.

Serena frowned, then cleared her throat, thrown by how much harder accepting even a hint of forgiveness was over giving it.

“Your grandmother would be giving you the lecture of your life for arresting me if she were here.”

“That, she would.” Austin laughed and put both hands back on the wheel. He glanced over at her. It was impossible not to sense when his eyes were on her. Serena felt her cheeks warm and rubbed her palm against the spot where his hand had touched her jeans. “I didn’t know how else to deal with you, Serena. You’d disappeared on me once and I didn’t want it happening again. Besides, I figured protest arrests had become some sort of honor badge for you. I had to process seeing you again and figure out what to say. About us, I mean. About what happened with Gale.”

“I don’t want to talk about Gale.”

“We need to talk about him.”

“Talking won’t bring him back and it won’t bring us back, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

His lips flat lined as he turned onto Lancaster Street and passed a house that was drowning in Christmas decorations. Serena remembered it. This guy went all out every year and come nightfall, when the stringed lights turned on, the place would have a carbon footprint the size of a city.

Austin passed through the neighborhood without another word and turned left onto their street.

While the shopping centers in town—and the Lancaster house—were already decked out for the Christmas season, fall mums and corn stalks still adorned most front porches of the craftsman style homes lining their block. They passed a scarecrow couple sitting on the stone steps leading up to a front door and an inflatable pumpkin and turkey big enough to scare away crows. One neighbor had enough pumpkins piled around the stone base of their house that they were flat out asking for trouble from over-excited, bored kids soon to be let out of school for the holiday weekend. Or maybe the haphazard piles had been dumped here by pranksters.

She remembered the times they’d hauled wheelbarrows of pumpkins out to “their” field with all the neighborhood kids and had pumpkin smash parties. Her mom used to lament over all the pies and roasted seeds she could have made, but Serena figured the wild animals out there deserved a Thanksgiving treat. Her dad thanked her for saving him from getting corralled into pumpkin cleaning.

Austin pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine. Her mom rushed out of her front door and down their porch steps, saving her from getting trapped into talking about her brother.

“Promise me you’ll stick around for a few days,” he said. “For your parents’ sake.”

Serena nodded but couldn’t speak. She stared down the driveway between their two houses. This had always been the perfect, symmetrical vantage point to see their oak tree in the field…every season, every year of their lives.

And it still was. He hadn’t cut the tree down.

CHAPTER TWO

Austin pulled his Academy sweatshirt over his head just in time to catch the basketball hurled at him with perfect aim. He tucked it under his arm and high-fived Joshua.

“You’ve been practicing. I’m going to have to up my game next time,” Austin said.

“Dude, no way you can beat me. You’re old.”

Austin chuckled. Any age beyond twenty was over-the-hill to a fifteen-year-old. He had to admit, though, their early morning one-on-one at the school’s outdoor hoop had wiped him out. Or maybe it was the frosty air stinging his lungs or the fact that he’d hardly slept. The image of Serena tied to the oak and they way she’d looked at him… He sat on the metal bench by the court and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

Joshua grabbed the basketball from him and began dribbling in place. “You okay, man? You look kinda weird today.”

“I’m good. Just a long night,” Austin said. It was kind of cool that Joshua was checking on him the way Austin did with him and the rest of the teens he mentored. “Your mom cooking turkey today?” Austin asked.

“Yep, and mashed potatoes and lots of pie. Can’t wait. Wanna join us? My aunt is coming over, too. She’s nice and not bad looking.”

Real subtle.

“I’ve got plans, but thanks. Have any of the other guys texted you back yet? I bet they too chicken to challenge my smooth hoop skills.”

Joshua checked the text messages on his phone.

“Steven and his parents drove to Virginia to see relatives. Rob says his stomach hurts and Neil says he’s grounded for getting a C-on his math test.”

That ticked Austin off. The kid didn’t need grounding. He needed tutoring, a little confidence and a lot of focus. All grounding the kid was going to do was compound his math anxiety and that kind of stress—especially with teens and their hormones—was a potential trigger for depression or worse. Austin had lucked out during those trying years. The counseling he’d gone through when his mom died and having Serena around had made a difference for him. He worried about a sensitive kid like Neil, whose parents expected no less than straight As without fail. As if life wasn’t tough enough at that age. Even with loving parents, it had been overwhelming for Gale and no one had noticed until it was too late.

“You two take the same math class?” he asked Joshua.

“Yeah, why?”

“How are you doing?”

“Pretty good. My friends think I’m strange for liking math, but I’d rather do math than write an essay.”

“Well, maybe you could get together with Neil to work math problems sometime.” Austin wished math had been his forte. He knew first-hand how Neil felt about math, but apart from peer support, he’d encourage him to get extra help from his teacher.

“I’m cool with that, if he wants to.”

“Good.” Austin stood up and swiped the ball back mid-dribble. “Let’s get you home. I promised your mother I’d haul any pumpkins in good shape down to the soup kitchen and take the rest to my lot. She’ll be glad to have her lawn back.”

“Just in time for her to start Christmas decorating. Dude, you don’t wanna know about the charity collection she’s come up with for that. You may need a bigger truck.”

* * *

Serena sat on the window seat in her old bedroom and pressed a cold washcloth to her face. She didn’t want her parents to see her eyes puffy and red. She’d planned on going downstairs early to help her mom cook, but she’d had a rotten night. Gale’s face was everywhere. His high school senior portrait on the mantel only reminded her that he’d never made it to graduation. His photo album on the living room end table captured the changes in his facial expressions over his last few years, from content to introspective. And she’d gone into his room across the hall during the night…thinking that it might help her finally cope with him being gone. She’d only fallen apart.

And then there was seeing Austin again.

She shook the washcloth out to cool it off and reapplied it to her eyes. The aroma of rolls and sweet potato casserole in the oven wafted up to her room. Her mom had always started early with baking desserts, so that she could free up the oven for the turkey. The heavenly scents and clanking of utensils and dishes reminded her of her last Thanksgiving at home. Gale had been alive. Her chest constricted. I miss you, Gale. I’m sorry that none of our talks were enough to help. I’m sorry I didn’t say the right things. Sobs returned in full force and she rocked back and forth.

She heard a tap at her door, followed by the same two-pitched creak that had kept her from sneaking out at night as a teen. She wiped her face with the cloth and tried to pace her breathing.

“Mind if I come in?” Her dad didn’t wait for an answer. He closed the door behind him and walked over to her with his arms open. Serena went to him and rested her cheek against his chest. Her breathing slowed to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the tension in her neck dissipated as he rubbed circles between her shoulders the way he used to when she was little. “I’m worried about you. So is your mom,” he said.

Serena righted herself and reached for a tissue off her dresser.

“I’m okay. It just…coming here and being around everything that was him hit me hard. I’ll be fine. I just needed to let it out.”

Her dad sat down at the foot of her bed and nodded. She slumped down next to him.

“Getting through each day gets a little easier, but you never forget. Especially when the holidays roll around,” he said. “Your mom and I, we went through the stages—the denial, anger, bargaining, depression…acceptance. We’ve been through his things. We spent the first year abusing ourselves with thoughts about what we did wrong or what we could have done differently. The ‘what ifs’ ate us up. But we were surrounded with support from family and friends. From Austin and the Shales.”

Serena looked down at her hands at the mention of Austin. He’d been there for her family when she’d been too cocooned in her own pain and guilt to mourn with them. The man she’d both loved and blamed had stood his ground through the storm that had uprooted her. The Oak and the Reed. The old fable’s likeness to her and Austin hit her like a slap in the face. How many times had her dad read that story to her as a little girl? Why did some people have to experience life in order to grasp its lessons?

“Honey,” her dad continued, “you’ve got to accept the past. Your brother is at peace now. He’d want you to be happy and move on.”

“I was his big sister. He used to confide in me. I knew he was stressing about colleges and grades…and girls.”

He’d spoken to Austin mostly, though, in his last year. It was as if she wasn’t enough anymore. She’d always been the more outgoing and outdoorsy one with grades that were okay but not great. Gale had been the studious, over-achiever with the compulsively clean room. He’d built himself a reputation no kid should have had to live up to, even if the expectation was self-imposed.

“We’re all learning from what happened to Gale. No one is to blame. His life had meaning and it still does. We’re thankful for the years we had with him and we’re thankful we still have you. I don’t have to tell you that life is short. Please don’t waste so much of it away from those who love you.”

She slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug.

“I love you and Mom. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,” she said.

“Wash your face and come tell your mother yourself. Make pie with her the way you used to. I know she’d like that. We love you, pumpkin…and we’re not the only ones who do,” he added when the doorbell rang.

“We’re having company for Thanksgiving? It’s not even noon,” she said, pushing her hair off her damp face and standing up in a panic. She was a mess and her head throbbed. Her dad got up and went to her bedroom door. He opened it to leave, but paused when Austin’s voice carried up the steps as he greeted her mom.

“We all cope differently, Serena. Austin doesn’t have anyone left. Whatever you’ve convinced yourself of, he’s a good man.”

* * *

Austin came up behind Serena and put his hands on her shoulders. She started, but he kept hold and drew her away from the dining room table where she was unfolding a leaf-patterned tablecloth.

“Mind if I borrow her?” he asked.

Serena’s mother was setting up the bare-branched, wire “Thanksgiving tree” she put out every year on the side console.

“I’m not—” Serena tried objecting, but her mom stopped her.

“Only if you bring her back.” Mrs. Myss finished writing what she was thankful for on one of the colorful, paper leaves she’d set in a bowl by the tree. She clipped it to one of the branches. “Food should be ready around five. And I expect you both to be here in time to put your leaves on the tree before eating.”

Austin was grateful for a lot of things, despite the losses he’d suffered, but pouring his heart out on construction paper was about as bad as being forced to do it one at a time around the dinner table, the way Grandma had always insisted on. He figured it was a woman thing.

“I’ll be too hungry to write by then,” he said. He let go of Serena and went over to the tree. He filled out one leaf, hung it, then just before setting the marker down, he decided to do another. He clipped it on a branch. “Your turn,” he said, holding the marker out for Serena. He didn’t like how washed out she looked. One day at home and she’d lost her spunk. Either she’d been bottling up her grief or she really hated being around him.

“I’ll do mine later,” she said. “Don’t you need my help setting up?” Serena widened her eyes at her mom, but was gracefully ignored.

Yep, as he suspected. She didn’t want to go anywhere with him. Could he blame her after yesterday?

“No, I’m fine here. You go with Austin,” Mrs. Myss said, waving them away.

Austin grabbed Serena’s hand before she could come up with excuses and led her out of the room and through the kitchen. He handed her the jacket he recognized as hers off one of the wall hooks by their kitchen door.

“If you get sick, you’ll get stuck with me at your bedside nursing you back to health. And I’m no nurse,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes as she pushed her arms into the jacket.

“Why would you do that? I wouldn’t need you. My mom makes a mean soup and has plenty of bedside experience.”

“Because if you got sick, I wouldn’t leave your side.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Serena’s cheeks flushed and she couldn’t get the zipper done up. He took over, happy to see her color had returned. So, maybe she was still affected by him. He wasn’t the only one feeling the connection between them as strong as if the past few years apart hadn’t happened.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, bringing his face to within an inch of hers. He didn’t care if her parents walked into the kitchen, he wanted to kiss her and breathe her in. He wanted to hold her face in his hands, touch his lips to hers and show her that she was his world and always had been. That no matter what happened after today, she always would be. “First stop, my place. There’s something I want to show you.”

“Austin. That’s not a good idea,” she said, standing her ground. The pulse in her wrist raced against his fingertips and her face turned crimson and then some.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, quickly pulling her outside. He needed the crisp air to hit him like a cold shower. He filled his lungs, as he linked his fingers in hers, and led her across the driveway. She hesitated, eyeing him carefully, before following him into his house.

“I haven’t really changed much around here since they passed away,” he said, realizing his kitchen screamed old-fashioned grandma, rather than bachelor cop. His neck heated up as she looked around. The energy between them filled the small kitchen and he was suddenly nervous…afraid of being judged. Afraid she’d never forgive him.

“You don’t need to change a thing.” She sighed. “I haven’t been in here in so long. It brings back a lot of memories. Good ones.” She ran her hand along the same cookie jar they’d both stolen from repeatedly as kids.

“Yeah.” He nodded, but emotion got in the way of his words. This was the Serena he knew. The old Serena. The one who’d loved his family as much as he did. The one who was forgiving, fun and kind-hearted. “Come into the living room a minute. I found something last night.”

She followed him into the next room. All the boxes and albums he’d pulled out of the attic covered the coffee table and recliner.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” he explained.

“I can’t do this,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t do so well looking at old photos last night.”

He put his hands on her arms and rubbed them up and down.

“You don’t have to look at anything you don’t want to. I’m not planning to make you go through these. I…I just needed to. Last night, I needed to make sense of things. What happened. My entire life. My thoughts were a mess, so I started looking at photos.” He smoothed away her frown lines with his thumb. “I wanted to find that one of us dressed as Sonny and Cher for Halloween senior year.” That was the year they’d officially gone from best friends to couple.

“I didn’t even need a wig,” she said, cracking a smile. Her long black hair had been perfect for the part.

“You looked perfect,” he said, wishing he’d found the photo. He reached down and picked up a loose stack out of a small box from his grandparents’ closet. “I found these instead. I don’t recall ever seeing them before, unless Gran had shown me when I was younger and I forgot.”

He watched as she flipped through the photos. Some were faded and clearly taken with an old camera. Black and whites. Sepia tones. A few so old and tattered on the edges that Gran had them in a protective plastic sleeve with a date on the corner.

“Notice anything?” he asked.

“They’re very old,” she said, glancing up at him and back through the photos when she caught his hint that something was there.

“Look harder. What do you see in all of them?”

Her eyes lit up and she spread them out on the end table.

“No way.” She bent over them for a closer look, then took one to the window and held it up. “The stone cellar in the field. It’s in all of them.”

“Exactly.” Every photo was an outdoor portrait of a woman on his grandmother’s side of the family. Generations of women in his family. His ancestors. And judging by the ones that had been labeled, these were Gran’s mother, and hers and hers and so on.

“And our tree? Austin—”

“I’m positive that’s the same oak over the years. That’s not all. As I looked at these photos, it hit me that I’d seen the same scene before. It took a few minutes for it all to click. Follow me.” He went upstairs to his grandparent’s bedroom and stood at the foot of their neatly made bed. “Look at that painting. It’s the same scene. There’s the cellar. And look at that.” He pointed to a seedling tree to the left of the woman who was so many “greats” removed he didn’t even try to say them all. The oil portrait was signed on the back. He’d checked it last night. Well, more like at 3 a.m.

“When was this painted?” Serena asked. “How could you not have known about this? Austin, this is amazing. Unbelievable.” She went around the side of the bed for a closer look.

“It’s dated 1777. This town—or at least the original settlement—is circa 1776. You know what that means?”

Serena rolled her eyes and let out a breath. He’d almost forgotten how much she’d hated memorizing dates back in school.

“Um, it was founded around the Declaration of Independence? What’s that got to do—”

“The town, yes, but I mean the seedling in the painting. The approximate time our tree was planted. Come on, Serena, 1777?”

“Who kept me from failing history? That year doesn’t ring a bell. Just say it, Austin.”

“That was the year the continental congress proclaimed the first National Thanksgiving, only it was observed in December that year.”

“You’re telling me that our oak was planted at the first Thanksgiving?” She looked back at the painting. “Oh, wow,” she whispered.

“That has to be why Gran didn’t want to lose the land. She knew it was part of her family history. Gramps would have known too, but he’d always been more of a money worrier than a sentimental guy. He wanted to do what was practical.”

“And who do you take after, Austin? Are you still planning to cut down our tree?”

“That tree means a lot to me, but you don’t understand. It’s not just about how painful it is to look at it and be reminded of you, knowing I lost you. What I’m doing out there, I’m doing because I lost Gale, too. The tree has to come down so I can create something for the greater good on the spot… Serena, I’m trying to keep other kids from committing suicide.”

* * *

Serena struggled to process both the discovery and the conflicting emotions coursing through her as he explained his plans. He wanted to build a teen center. GPS, as he’d called it. He said in his mind it stood for Gale for Prevention of Suicide, but he wanted kids to think of the navigational system. A cool place they could hang out, stay out of trouble and find their way. And her parents knew about his plans, but had told him it was his place to let her know. In fact, in addition to what Austin was using from his inheritance, they’d donated money towards building costs.

After Gale died, she was afraid to be responsible for anyone but herself. And here, Austin had done the opposite. He’d taken on the responsibility of kids he wasn’t even related to.

Austin led her outside and held her hand as he led her across the backyard and out into the field. She pulled away and went to the oak tree. No matter how far she ran or how much time she needed to get past Gale’s death, knowing that their tree stood made her feel like she’d be able to come home when she was ready. That the love she and Austin once shared would someday come back to life.

And he’d almost cut it down.

Apparently, most of the acreage was prone to flooding in heavy rains and snow melt. He’d been told that, because of the topography of the land, including the creek and the water table, the area the tree stood was the spot to build on. She’d look into that herself. She touched the trunk with her fingertips and circled it.

“It’s over here,” he said, putting his hand over hers and placing her fingers a little higher. The engraved heart with their initials. He traced it with her finger and everything from his touch to the flood of memories made her want to sink into his arms and never let go.

“There has to be a way,” she whispered. A way to keep everything safe. Kids. The tree. Austin. She felt powerless. As passionate as she was about her work and as frustrating as her failures were, they were nowhere near as agonizing as the loss of a loved one. She’d been hiding behind her work like she’d been hiding behind anger and blame.

“Maybe. I’ll hold off until I get more opinions and find out what the options are.” He turned her around so she faced him with her back against the tree. He braced his hands against the trunk on either side of her head and leaned in. “Serena. You have to know that I didn’t mean for Gale to take his life. I had no way of knowing. I don’t think even he knew until the moment it happened.

“I know.” She wiped an escaped tear and forced herself to look at him. “Maybe I’ve always known, but…. Austin, I can’t handle you dying, too.”

“Me? Serena, what are you talking about?”

“You’re an officer. You have a gun with you at all times. What if someday a gun is turned on you? I don’t know if I could let my children live in a house where a gun was stored.” Her cheeks burned and she closed her eyes. Had she just implied they’d have kids someday? They hadn’t had discussions like that since before Gale’s suicide.

Austin didn’t miss a beat.

“I’m not stupid. Yes, my job can be dangerous and unpredictable, but it’s who I am. And I know about gun safety. Even living alone, I keep it locked up. I’m a trained professional, Serena. I’m not that idiot who left a loaded gun in his nightstand.”

She knew exactly who the idiot was. The out-of-town parent whose son, in Gale’s class, had thrown a party in their absence. A party that involved drinking and pot. The kind of kids her brother had never hung out with before. One more warning sign no one had picked up on. And when the cops showed up, the other kids had ditched him. Gale…who never did anything wrong…who pressured himself into being perfect…had been caught doing something illegal.

She opened her eyes and looked into Austin’s.

“I wasn’t the only officer there, Serena,” Austin said, reading her mind. “I was shocked when I walked in and saw him. I told him not to run or do anything stupid and had my partner stand down because it was Gale.”

“He was a good kid,” she insisted.

“I know he was. Bad choices don’t mean bad kid. But I had no choice when I told him I’d need to call your parents and take him in.”

Austin’s eyes glistened. Remembering was torture for him, too. Serena bit her lower lip and put her hands on his chest. She’d been so selfish blaming Austin. Yes, he’d been there when it happened, but that also meant that he’d been there when the gunshot rang through the house. It meant he’d never be able to erase the image of finding Gale.

“Stop. You don’t have to do this,” she said.

“But I need you to know that when he asked to use the bathroom before leaving, I let him because he was Gale. The master bedroom and bath were close with no second way out. I thought I was keeping him safe. I loved him like a little brother, Serena.” His voice cracked and she wrapped her arms around him. His arms came around her, too, and they held each other.

“I know,” she said.

She felt his lips press against the top of her head and she held him even tighter.

They needed each other.

* * *

Minutes passed as they held each other under the oak tree, but he wanted those minutes to last forever. He had commitments, though. He brushed her hair back and held her face.

“We’re being watched,” he said. She looked over at her parents’ house, but didn’t see anyone. “Not them. Come with me. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

He guided her to a clearing on the far side of the tree, away from any parked construction equipment and taped off areas. He felt her tremble as he rubbed his thumb along her palm. He didn’t let go until they came within feet of the group of kids waiting for him.

“You’re kidding me,” she said, taking in the piles of pumpkins, kids and sling-shot style contraption. He watched the memories cross her face. “You’re pumpkin smashing?”

“Every year. It rocks,” Joshua said, before Austin could answer. The other teens were already psyching themselves up for safe release, as Austin liked to call it.

“What do you say we have some fun? Grab a pumpkin!” Austin called at the top of his lungs. He grinned as the group’s energy skyrocketed. Serena laughed. She laughed.

Without thinking, he pulled her against his chest and kissed her.

CHAPTER THREE

Her mom had outdone herself. Serena had outdone herself in the eating department. She hadn’t had an appetite like that in a long time, but between the fun in the field yesterday, Austin’s kiss and the savory aromas of her mom’s home cooking, the floodgates of hunger had opened without shame. She wasn’t sure if she’d binged on her favorite Thanksgiving comfort foods to dampen her overwhelming emotions since coming home, or if her appetite had returned because she’d finally released so many pent-up feelings. Either way, yesterday’s Thanksgiving had been a beautiful one, albeit bittersweet without Gale.

Right now, lying on a blanket under the oak and staring up at the web work of branches, she kept overanalyzing the message Austin had left on the tabletop tree. One leaf noted that he was thankful for having the Myss family in his life, but he’d written another that said, I’m thankful Serena is a part of me. What exactly did that mean? He’d written it before the kiss that had her swaying on her feet like the branches of a willow in spring. Had he meant a part of him because she was a part of his past? There was nothing past about that kiss. Did he mean that, even after all her anger, blame and leaving him, that he still loved her? If he did, could she handle opening herself back up to that kind of pain…to losing him in the line of duty?

“Skipping the ropes this time?”

She jolted onto her elbows and saw Austin, in uniform, walking toward her with a plate. He dropped down next to her and set the sandwiches aside. Serena sat up.

“Do I still need to be tying myself to it?”

“I promised you I’d look into it, but you looked kind of cute tied up here and all fired up about saving the tree.”

He looked so hot in uniform. She smacked his arm and reached over him to steal a sandwich. Leftover turkey and butter on a baguette. The same thing they always ate the day after Thanksgiving, while sitting under this tree, picnic style. Tradition. Except for one year when an early blizzard confined them to their separate houses.

“I’m a passionate girl. Deal with it.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he picked up a pebble and tossed it across the grass.

“I must say, I was surprised to see you tied to the trunk instead of sitting up in the branches like a respectable tree-hugger.” He grinned. “I thought with all your adventures, you’d have gotten over your fear of heights by now.”

“Not even close.” Hurt once. Lesson learned. She’d hated heights ever since she’d climbed the oak when she was twelve, fell down and broke her arm. Austin had been the one to run and get her dad.

“I made a call to put a hold on construction,” he said. “I want to look into the studies and permits. It wouldn’t be the first time inspectors and officials turned a blind eye for the sake of a buck. Feel free to help out. I need to wait until Monday, though, when everyone is back to work. Plus, I’m on patrol duty today and most of the weekend. Holiday shopping season. Do you mind me spending my lunch break with you?”

She cocked her head at him.

“Stupid question.”

“No such thing.”

“Would you do something for me before you’re back to work?”

“Name it.”

“Would you come with me to visit his grave?” She held her breath. After the way she’d left him to handle everything on his own, she didn’t deserve to have him stand by her and give her strength. He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you, Serena.”

* * *

Austin held the solid wood and stained glass door to Bentley’s open and let Serena in ahead of him. The old pub, with its Friday night live music and great food, had been their favorite hangout in college. After the cold drizzle at the cemetery, he figured she could use something hot to drink…and he wanted to milk every second he could with her.

“I remember Bentley’s being a lot busier than this,” Serena said, slipping off her jacket. He took it from her and scanned the place. A force of habit and training. Brie, the redheaded owner, had her back to them as she served a man sitting at a corner table. Her young, service-dog-in-training, Wolf, was at her side.

“Long story,” Austin said. “Business took a hit after someone was killed at the intersection here by a drunk driver less than a year ago. I was one of the officers on scene.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Serena said, touching his arm.

“Austin, good to see you. The usual?” Brie walked over with a smile on her face. Her eyes widened. “Serena Myss? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Good to see you, Brie.”

Austin waited for the girl hug to finish. “Just coffee today, Brie. I need to get back to work.”

“Coming right up. Really great to see you, Serena. We should catch up soon.”

Serena smiled and nodded as she led the way to the same table they’d always sat at. Austin hoped she’d stick around and have plenty of time for catching up with old friends in town.

“What’s with the puppy?”

“She’s training him for the service school test.” Austin’s expression sobered when he heard the call coming through on his radio. He could tell by the way her eyes faded that Serena had heard it, too. A standoff at a shopping strip with hostages involved. Great. “I have to go.” He stood abruptly, but bent over and kissed her before leaving. “Can you get home safely?”

“Of course,” she said, standing. She looked pale. “Be careful, okay?”

He stole one last kiss. He tried not to wonder if it’d be his last. He needed to hurry. He needed to focus on the situation at hand. He didn’t have time to wonder whether the fear in Serena’s eyes meant that she really wasn’t ready to handle the dangers of his job. And that she’d be gone again by the time he came home.

* * *

“It’s happening again. I can’t—” Serena covered her face and gasped for air. She heard the TV click off and felt mom’s arms around her. The standoff was over and the gunman had given himself up, but not before firing his gun. The reporter’s voice, stating that an officer identified as Austin Shale had been shot and rushed to the hospital, echoed in her head.

“Let’s go,” her dad said. He put his hand on her shoulder. “All of us, Serena. You’re not alone. You hear me? We’ll get through this together.”

“Breathe, honey. You’re going to hyperventilate.” Her mom rubbed her back then held Serena’s face in her hands. “Slow down.”

Serena’s breathing steadied and she took the tissues her dad handed her.

“Let’s go,” she said.

She could do this.

If you get sick, you’ll get stuck with me at your bedside.

She needed to be there for him. She just didn’t know if she’d have the strength to stay.

* * *

She was gone. Austin was sure of it.

He sat up in his hospital bed and looked out the window. Even on pain meds, his shoulder where they’d removed the bullet hurt like hell, but it didn’t compare to the misery of realization that she wasn’t coming. Every officer he knew at the station had come by to visit. His chief said the waiting room down the hall had been filled with uniforms until the doctors assured them he was going to be okay. Even Mr. and Mrs. Myss had come to his bedside for a quick visit a few minutes ago. When he asked about Serena, they’d simply exchanged looks and excused themselves.

He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillow, swallowing hard against both physical and emotional pain. He’d survived losing her before. He’d wanted closure. Now he had it.

Drug-induced drowsiness made him sink into the pillow. Sleep dulled the pain. Soft lips touched his, too warm and real to be a medication side effect. The familiar scent of lavender soothed him.

Serena.

He kept his eyes closed as the kiss made his blood rush and pain vanish.

“Oh, Nurse Betty. Don’t stop,” he said, smiling.

“What? Nurse Betty, my foot.”

The spunk was back in her voice. He loved her voice. He loved her. He cracked open his heavy lids and chuckled.

“You look terrible, but you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said.

“Ditto.”

“I thought you’d left town.”

She sat carefully on the edge of the bed and took his hand on his uninjured side and held it against her chest.

“I almost did. I was scared, Austin. But then I realized that, no matter what, I wanted to stay here, by your side, in sickness and in health, `till death do us part.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them. Was he hearing her right, or was it the meds?

“Are you saying—”

“Yes, I am. I love you, Austin. I always have. And I’m not going to let worrying about the things that can happen take what we have away from us. I want to spend forever with you, no matter how long forever will be. More than anything, I’m thankful you’re a part of me, too.”

She’d read his leaf message. He sat straighter, letting her help him and leaning into her for support. He kissed her then rested his forehead against hers.

“Forever, huh? As in getting married, living next door to your parents and giving them lots of grandkids?”

“Um, how many kids are we talking?”

“Enough that your mom will eventually need to buy a Thanksgiving Tree with more branches,” he said, lacing his fingers in hers and giving her another kiss.

“Maybe we can just have them hang their leaves on our real Thanksgiving Tree. The oak. It could be a tradition for all the kids you mentor. Besides, I think that old oak would love to witness another generation of Shales growing up.”

Austin grinned at the idea of building a big family with Serena and all the fun they’d have doing so.

“I’m all in. When can we start?”

EPILOGUE

This was it. Serena’s pulse tripped when she saw Austin standing under their tree in a suit. She gripped her bouquet of wildflowers and began walking through the grass in her mom’s wedding dress. It took forever for May to roll around, but they’d wanted construction to be finished and for their oak to have leafed out after the long winter they had. An open pavilion on decking had been build near the tree, in lieu of a building, and right now it was packed with friends, family, officers and all the teens who’d come to think of Austin as a big brother.

She loved that a bunch of teen girls had started coming to GPS, too. They told her she was like a big sister and their words were soothing. Working with Austin on their cause when he was off duty and whenever she wasn’t busy working on her Master’s in environmentalism over at the university. It made life complete.

There had indeed been options for building the teen center. Greener options. They’d turned the place into more of a park. The pavilion, being without a foundation, had allowed them to keep the tree…where they’d be taking their wedding portrait to add to Austin’s photograph collection.

They’d brought in soil and created a drainage system to allow for an indoor structure complete with pool tables, hoops indoors and out, skateboards, bikes and just about anything a teen would want to be built, closer to the opposite side of the property, where it wouldn’t disturb the habitat around the creek.

And, taking advantage of the rich soil and water, they’d started a community garden where the teens could take part in growing food, learning about sustainability and help donate to food banks for community service.

She “walked up the aisle,” passing through the pavilion where everyone sat.A plaque on one of its pillars read In memory of Gale. She went and stood by Austin. He took her hands and neither of them could stop smiling as they said their vows. She had no second thoughts or doubts. Austin Shale was her true north.

Everyone cheered as Austin scooped her up and carried her towardthe building for the reception.

“I can walk!” She laughed.

“I can’t seem to keep my hands off you. This is the only respectable way I can do that right now,” he said.

Everyone followed and several kids, including Joshua, chanted, “Austin and Serena, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Serena looked over his shoulder.

“I think they want us to kiss again,” she said.

“Let’s not disappoint.” He kissed her as he spun her in a circle.

Serena put her arms around his neck and held on tight.

This time around, they’d be holding on forever.

* * * * *

Be sure to check out the books in Rula Sinara’s FROM KENYA, WITH LOVE miniseries!

THE PROMISE OF RAIN

AFTER THE SILENCE

THROUGH THE STORM

Available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

Gluten-Free Butternut Squash Cheesecake by Rula Sinara

Note—a food processor makes this recipe super easy and gives the filling a smooth texture, but if you don’t have one feel free to use an electric mixer or your muscles . Also, this recipe is gluten-free, but a regular graham-cracker crust may be substituted for those who wish.

Crust Ingredients

1 cup Bob’s Red Mill gluten-free rice flour (white or brown)

1 stick (½ cup) chilled unsalted butter, cubed

¼ cup dark brown sugar

½ teaspoon cinnamon

½ teaspoon nutmeg

Filling Ingredients

1 cup cooked butternut squash. (You can use canned or fresh. I cut a fresh one in half lengthwise, scoop out the seeds and place facedown on a foil-covered pan. Bake it at 350°F until the skin browns and it feels tender when poked with a knife. This could take anywhere from 30 min to 1 hour, depending on the size of the squash and oven variations. When it’s cool, scoop out the amount needed and store the rest…or make soup!)

3 packages (8 ounces each) of Neufchâtel cheese (regular cream cheese may be substituted)

¾ cup of sour cream

1 cup granulated sugar

½ cup dark brown sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon cinnamon

¼ teaspoon nutmeg

2 tablespoons cornstarch (gluten-free brand)

3 eggs

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

2. Put all the crust ingredients into a large food processor and blend until wet crumbles form. Dump into an ungreased 10- to 11-inch round Pyrex dish and use fingers to press a thin layer across the bottom and up along the sides of the dish. This doesn’t have to be pretty or perfect! Set aside (no prebaking needed).

3. Put all of the filling ingredients into a large food processor and blend. Stop once to scrape the sides, then blend again until smooth.

4. Pour the batter into the crust-lined dish. Don’t worry if it covers all the crust edges or the crust barely shows. This is normal.

5. Place the dish on a middle oven rack and bake for 45 to 50 minutes or until surface is slightly browned and knife/toothpick comes out clean from the center.

6. Cool to room temperature, then refrigerate before serving. It’s delicious cold and can be served with fresh berries, whipped cream or ice cream. Enjoy!

Married by Thanksgiving

By Melinda Curtis

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Recipe: Apple-Pineapple-Blueberry Minis

CHAPTER ONE

“Mr. Hadley, I’m representing you today.” The woman on the other side of the Berkeley courthouse table wore a conservative blue suit that made her look ten years older than Clinton Hadley suspected she was.

Trouble was…

He needed a real old lawyer—or at least a battle-scarred one—like the one he’d hired last month. Thinning white hair, outdated wire rimmed glasses, willing to lie, cheat, and deal to get Clinton Hadley out of jail in time to quarterback the Wolves against the Vipers on Sunday.

Trouble was…

This woman had long, thick brown hair that he wanted to touch. Her clothes, her glasses, her cleavage (none shown!) were all in style and up-to-date. And she gave him a conservative smile, the kind that said she’d never lied, cheated, or double-dealed to get anyone out of jail. Ever.

“I’m Brenda Thomas from Wilson, Wilson and Wyatt.” The conservative smile vanished. In its place was a look he’d seen too often on rookies lining up across from a veteran offensive tackle, trying too hard to look confident.

He was in trouble! Big trouble.

“Where’s my lawyer?” The one Clinton wouldn’t trust playing poker with. Those things the jail had called eggs made an illegal move up his throat.

Her “confidence” never wavered. “Mr. Wilson sends his regrets from the Bahamas.”

Clinton’s agent was also on vacation this week. Had everyone deserted him during the most important time of his life? Didn’t anyone stay at home for Thanksgiving anymore?

“I’ve been in here since Saturday night,” he said. It was Monday morning.

She bit her bottom lip. Was she nervous?

Try sitting where I am, sweetheart!

She set her cell phone on the table. “We’re scheduled to appear in front of Judge Kowalski in fifteen minutes.” To her credit, there was no fear in her voice.

“Great.” There might have been some fear in his. There was no time now to call the lawyer he’d fired at the end of the summer. “Last month, Judge Kowalski told me to settle down, get married, and stay out of trouble.” After his backup started a brawl at a club.

“I guess you didn’t take his advice.” Ms. Thomas opened a folder and flipped through the pages. “Sadly, the getting married part would’ve helped. Judge Kowalski is notoriously softer on family men.” Her fingers—long, slender, ringless—drummed over his arrest report.

She flipped the folder closed with a sigh, slid her readers down her nose and examined him over the top of those black rims like the university librarian the first time Clinton had asked for a reference book on aerospace engineering. “Tell me what we’re dealing with. The truth.”

“It’s nothing.” Nothing he was going to share with someone he hadn’t hired.

“So there were no drugs?”

“No, ma’am.” As quarterback of the Wolves, Clinton found no time or interest or purpose in doing anything like that.

“No naked women?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No taunting, blind punches thrown, resisting arrest…?” She blinked at him expectantly. He was in jail, after all.

“Well…” Clinton was going to have to tell her something beyond what she could read in the arrest report. “Here’s the thing…”

Ms. Thomas pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Guilty or not?”

“What?”

“Were you guilty of breaking and entering the county impound lot?” She stared at him as if she was ready to pack up her little leather briefcase and leave him in jail.

“I was trying to get to my car.”

“Which had been towed after you were cited for street racing on Friday.” She checked the time on her cell phone. “What was so important that you had to show up at the impound lot at two a.m., be refused access to your car, and sneak onto the lot?” She did begin packing her things then—cell phone, pencil, file folder.

The eggs in Clinton’s stomach performed an illegal motion.

“The judge will want to know if you were hiding drugs in the car. That’s how this looks—like police missed the drugs when the car was impounded and you went back to retrieve them, got upset when you were refused access, punched a tow truck driver and resisted arrest.”

Clinton wished his backup quarterback Lewis Stevens hadn’t confessed he’d hidden a baggy with Viagra beneath the passenger seat of Clinton’s impounded race car. He wished he’d told Lewis off after the nightclub incident, and found a good woman to settle down with like the judge recommended. “Things got out of hand the other night.”

“Only because you didn’t have something in your hand. What was that something, Mr. Hadley?”

* * *

The trouble with being a lawyer raised by lawyers in a family where everyone was a lawyer—from Brenda Thomas’ second cousins to her great aunt—was that just about everyone in the court system was related to her somehow or within three degrees of separation.

Take Judge John Kowalski. He was her father’s best friend. They’d gone to law school together. The Thomases spent every Thanksgiving holiday with the Kowalskis at their sprawling vacation ranch northeast of Santa Rosa. And the Kowalskis spent New Year’s at the Tahoe cabin owned by the Thomases.

That connection didn’t mean Brenda was going to find any leniency with “Uncle John.” In fact, given that she’d just returned to practicing in the San Francisco Bay area after years of working in New York, Uncle John might use this case to make an example of her.

Brenda wouldn’t blame him if he did. She didn’t much care for Clinton Hadley’s attitude. He was hiding something. Clients who withheld information from their lawyers deserved what they got. When he’d complained about being held in jail two nights, she’d had to bite her lip from saying, “Boo-hoo.”

But she couldn’t just go through the motions. She had to try to get her client free, if only for the fact that she hadn’t been at Wilson, Wilson and Wyatt very long. She was so new, her health insurance hadn’t kicked in yet.

The case was called. Almost as one, the media shifted in their seats, filling the court with the sound of creaking plastic, shuffling feet, and the click of record buttons to capture every word spoken about the football star.

Brenda sat next to her client, feeling like a dwarf next to his tall, muscular frame. But at least, she was a freshly showered dwarf.

“I need to play in Sunday’s game,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll do anything to make it happen.”

His warm breath planted a stake of awareness in her spine. She wasn’t used to feeling attraction to clients who were larger than life and had a secret. Maybe it was because she didn’t know his. Maybe it was because she was disappointed in him. She’d always admired Clinton Hadley as a squeaky clean quarterback in a competitive league where players would do anything to stay on a roster. He’d been in trouble with the law several times over the past few months, maybe even since the playoffs last year when a brutal sack had earned him four broken ribs. Make no mistake. His arrests and run-ins with the law were small things. But in her book, small things added up to one thing where athletes were concerned: train wreck ahead.

She glanced up at Clinton. Finely chiseled features, crisply cut black hair, dark brown eyes that could dissect a defense in less than ten seconds. He was known for his ability to adjust a play on the fly, to take risks, to think outside the box. What line had he crossed?

He caught her stare and smiled. It wasn’t a smile that found humor in the situation. Or one to charm. It was the same smile he gave competitors when he was under center calling a play. It said, “I’ve got this.” It said, “Bring it on.” It said, “You have no idea what’s coming your way.”

Clinton Hadley didn’t have this. And an attitude like that was detrimental to Brenda’s success. Marbury Wilson had been clear on the phone this morning. Clinton had to make the game on Sunday, or she’d be fired. And considering the way she’d left her last job, only the most desperate firm would touch her if Marbury let her go.

Uncle John stared down at Brenda. The furrows he’d earned over years of serving on the bench deepened. He brushed back his peppery hair and reviewed Clinton’s file once more before reading the charges aloud. “I’ve seen you in my courtroom far too often, Mr. Hadley. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Clinton said in a firm voice.

The district attorney’s grin found humor in Clinton’s plea and a back door into Brenda’s competitive streak. “Your Honor, I’d like to call the arresting officer to the stand.”

Clinton leaned down to whisper in her ear again. “He’s going to tell the truth.”

She noted Clinton’s smile, his intensity, his air of complete domination. In any other circumstance, she’d be happy to see a man with an ego like that go down. “Maybe you should try it sometime,” she whispered back. “The truth, that is. I hear it’ll set you free.”

His dark eyes glittered and she felt another stake of awareness.

“Not guilty. Not taking the stand either.” He shot a half-glance over his shoulder to the media in the peanut gallery.

He valued privacy over freedom? If he wanted to play on Sunday, he didn’t have the luxury.

“You leave me no choice,” Brenda whispered. “But to throw you on the mercy of the court.” He’d given her nothing to defend and now wouldn’t even defend himself.

Instead of her statement putting the fear of Judge Kowalski in him, his gaze turned calculating.

Brenda listened to the policeman’s testimony, only occasionally objecting to speculation he made and leading the witness by the public defender, who’d been in her brother’s fraternity in college. She was making a pitiful showing, but what had she been given to work with?

And then came her turn.

She stood. “Your Honor, as pointed out by the arresting officer, there were several events that occurred during the night in question that contributed to the escalation of tension.”

Uncle John nodded for her to proceed.

“The clerk at the yard refused my client access to his vehicle for the simple fact that he had no car registration. That document was in the vehicle and the clerk refused to accompany my client to the vehicle to retrieve it.” Forget that there’d been a line out the door that night at the impound lot, which was normal for a Saturday in the Bay Area. And forget that Clinton had been belligerent and impatient with the clerk’s response.

Uncle John’s eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t forget either fact, but he didn’t stop her from trying to make some kind of case out of nothing.

“My client was wrong to try and retrieve his registration by sneaking into the yard when a tow truck entered.”

Uncle John’s assessing gaze turned on Clinton.

“But the tow truck driver did try to taze him.” And missed. “And then took a swing at my client.” Which he’d dodged.

“Your client disregarded protocol and bent the rules and struck a man trying to do his job when he was caught.”

Sadly, all true. “My client has been going through a difficult time, Your Honor. He’s under a lot of pressure, with his every move analyzed by the media.” She gestured to the packed seats behind her.

“Maybe it’s time your client learned there are consequences to his actions. A week in jail sounds like it’ll give him time to realize his success on the football field doesn’t entitle him to—”

“I’m guilty, Your Honor,” Clinton said in a loud voice as he came to his feet.

The courtroom erupted. The district attorney grinned. Uncle John called for order.

“What Ms. Thomas says is true. I’ve had a difficult few months, but things are beginning to turn around. I’ve fallen in love and I can guarantee you that this woman will keep me out of trouble and out of your courtroom.”

“Really, Mr. Hadley?” If Uncle John hadn’t said it, Brenda might have, with a bump in the sarcasm and a raised brow.

“Yes, sir.” Clinton had just the right touch of sincerity in his tone, just the right softness in his eyes to be believed.

Not by Brenda or Uncle John, but perhaps by a rookie lifestyle reporter.

“It happened so quickly and unexpectedly, I don’t think even the media knows. I’m getting married.” He turned to Brenda. “I’m getting married as soon as she’ll have me.” And then he dropped down on one knee and took Brenda’s hands. “I’ve waited for someone like you my whole life. Say you’ll marry me. Now. Today.”

* * *

“You’re an idiot,” Clinton’s attorney whispered to him as they walked through the courtroom halls behind Judge Kowalski and the district attorney. “It’s time to tell the truth.”

“I have to play in Sunday’s game.” There was more than a loss at stake. There was his pride. “If I have to marry you to do it, I will.”

Ms. Thomas had ditched her glasses and her smoothly modulated, lawyerly tones. Her eyes flashed and her words were sharp. What she hadn’t ditched was her desire to get him off the hook. He’d seen the competitive look in her eyes when she watched the district attorney present his case. He’d use that if he could.

“Marrying the client is not part of Wilson, Wilson and Wyatt’s service.” It was almost impossible to comprehend, but—for all her conservative ways—his lawyer was attractive. She had a fire in her eyes that threatened to burn him with angry intensity. “There’s only one way I’ll go through with this.”

He nearly tripped on the smooth marble. “Which is?”

“Tell me what was in the car.” She gripped his bicep through the thin cotton of the shirt he’d had on since Saturday. “And don’t lie.”

Clinton considered calling the proceedings to a halt. For like two seconds. And then he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “My back up quarterback left Viagra in the car.”

He expected sex jokes. Even a censorious glance. He didn’t expect an eye roll or her next words.

“Are you one of the idiots that believes Viagra gives you better performance on the playing field?”

“No.” He straightened and looked at her more closely. Yep, this was still the conservatively buttoned up lawyer he’d met barely thirty minutes ago, not some sports reporter. “Lewis does.”

She still had hold of his arm. She tugged on it to slow him down. “I can use this in your defense.”

Clinton clapped a hand over hers and sped up. “No. That kind of thing will follow me around for years. No one will believe they weren’t mine.” Not just in the media, but on the field, in the locker room. There’d be fans in the stadium holding signs they couldn’t show on TV. It would impact his endorsement deals and his future in sportscasting or coaching. “You said if I told you, you’d go through with this.”

“That wasn’t the best deal of my career. I wish I had more time to make you see reason, but…” She glanced ahead and laughed like she’d just gone off the deep edge. “If we’re going to do this, there’s something you should know. You might change your mind. God knows, I should.”

What he knew was she was walking with him to the county clerk’s office with a pack of rabid reporters. “You didn’t call me out in front of the judge earlier. You’re not going to do it now.”

“I should,” she said again. “I should as soon as we step through that door. You’d thank me someday.”

“Marbury Wilson guaranteed me his firm would do anything to defend me. It was why he won my business. Come clean now and I’ll fire your firm.” With freedom so near, he prayed she wouldn’t back out now.

“There’s always pro bono work,” she muttered, frowning as they passed through the doorway.

“Here we are.” Judge Kowalski stood in the county clerk’s office in his black courtroom robes surrounded by the district attorney, his bailiff, and the media. “If you truly love each other, now’s the time to commit.”

“And the case?” Ms. Thomas was no dummy. She wanted to know the stakes.

“If Mr. Hadley really loves you and you stay married for a week—” The judge’s expression indicated he doubted this had a snowball’s chance in the desert. “—I’ve talked to the district attorney about time served and community service.”

His lawyer’s eyes narrowed. “The length and specificity of service?”

“An eight hour shift at the impound lot during the Saturday night rush—ten a.m. to six a.m.”

“With all the other belligerent drunks, reckless speeders, and double parkers who’ve had their cars towed and aren’t happy about it.” The district attorney grinned.

“For the record,” Ms. Thomas said with authority Clinton doubted she was feeling. “My client was none of those things when he was arrested.”

There was a moment of silence, like the calm before an expected downpour.

Clinton took his attorney’s cold hand and moved into line. There was a bulletin board of wedding photos on the lobby wall. Happy couples who truly loved each other. Had they been in church, Clinton was sure lightening would have struck and the resulting downpour would have drowned them.

In a matter of minutes, it was done. Clinton was married. The eggs sat like an overinflated ball in his stomach.

“Go on,” someone from the media urged. “Kiss her.”

Clinton stared into his wife’s dark brown eyes and couldn’t remember her first name. Time seemed to slow. Or maybe it was the realization that the woman who stood before him was quietly, classically beautiful. And a complete stranger.

He took a lock of dark brown hair and rubbed its silky softness between his fingers, hesitating.

“I’ve never known you to be trigger-shy before,” she murmured.

He grinned. And that grin led to a kiss so tender and so brief, he had no chance to register more than the softness of her lips matched the softness of her hair.

The judge hugged Clinton’s lawyer…er, wife. “We’ll see you Wednesday night, my dear.”

“Yes, Uncle John.”

The world—which had slowed moments ago—spun at an alarming rate.

Uncle John?

Judge Kowalski, aka Uncle John, tweaked her nose. “You come prepared to tell the whole truth. This is a story everyone will want to hear.” And then he scowled at the media, who’d been taking pictures with flashes at a blinding rate. “Show’s over.” And then he scowled at Clinton and took him aside. “I’ll be watching you from now until Sunday.”

Uncle John? Uncle John would be watching him?

Clinton had been thinking the marriage stunt might get him off the hook or at least provide him with a better bargaining chip. He hadn’t thought beyond the county clerk’s office and marrying his lawyer.

Brenda led him down the hall to a side door marked Authorized Personnel Only, and to the parking lot and a shiny black BMW. “Get in.”

“Uncle John?” And here he’d thought the worst of it was over. It was his turn to laugh somewhat hysterically. “Oh, there was something I needed to know all right.”

“I tried to tell you.” She didn’t wait for him to buckle up to put the car in gear and back out. “That was wrong in so many ways. Blackmail and harassment on your part. Fraud on mine.”

“Lack of a pre-nup,” he deadpanned. Clinton couldn’t shake the feeling that the judge was out to get him. “What did the judge mean about Wednesday?”

“You’d have been smarter to ask what was behind his terms of staying married a week.” She waved to the lot’s security guard, pulled forward as if ready to drive away, and stopped. “If you have plans for Wednesday and Thursday, cancel them. You’ll either be staying at Judge Kowalski’s vacation home with me or you’ll be in jail.”

He’d been blind-sided and tackled, the air forced from his lungs. “That would mean that you and I…”

“Have to pretend, not just to like each other, but to be madly in love with each other and fully vested in a real marriage.”

He envied her calm glance, her ability to see three steps ahead when he’d only seen two.

“Last chance.” She clutched the wheel tighter. “I can turn this car around and we can throw ourselves on the mercy of the court. We’ll both add contempt to our sins, but we won’t have lie after lie on our consciences.”

“I’m sorry.” He really was. “But this marriage got me out of jail. And I have to play in Sunday’s game.”

How hard would it be to pretend to love this woman for a few days?

Surprisingly, he didn’t think it’d be hard at all.

CHAPTER TWO

A cold front had moved into the Bay Area, and Brenda couldn’t seem to get warm.

She managed to avoid court, her family and the media until Wednesday. News of their marriage had made all the major news outlets. Clinton was milking it for all it was worth, as if the more headlines he made, the more likely Uncle John would be to believe him. Brenda had taken the opposite approach. She didn’t answer her phone, not even when her boss called from the Bahamas to praise her creativity. All emails and texts from her family were answered with: Swamped. Sorry. All will be explained on Thanksgiving.

All wouldn’t be explained. She was going to lie to them. To her mom and dad. And the more she thought about it, the colder she got.

At noon Wednesday, Brenda drove north out of the city and picked Clinton up from the Santa Rosa airport. He’d flown in, which allowed him to attend practice and player meetings before the holiday. Uncle John’s ranch retreat was an hour northeast of Santa Rosa in the middle of nowhere, which would be a blessing since the media wouldn’t be around.

After stowing his bag in the trunk, Clinton slid into the passenger seat and tossed two bouquets of flowers in the back. “One for your mom and one for the judge’s wife.”

That was sweet.

“That was slick,” she said instead, annoyed that she’d had to hide for two days and then had to deal with nearly deadlocked traffic for more than four hours.

“I’m just trying to help, honey.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sweetie?”

“Not that either.”

“Darling?”

She chose to ignore his attempts at marital humor. “We just need to get through two days without any more lies.” Impossible. She didn’t even like the man. How was she going to convince her family she loved him? “There’s still time to confess.”

“Why would you do that when we’ve only got four more days to go?”

“Because I’ll be lying to my parents, while you’ll be lying to strangers.” Something he seemed adept at doing. “What did you tell your parents?”

“My parents are dead.”

The cold she’d been feeling for days felt blanketed with the warmth of compassion. She’d had the heat blasting on her side of the car. She turned it off completely. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I lost them a long time ago.” He stared out the window at the small sheep pastures they passed that were interspersed between neat rows of vineyards. “They tell me my mom was a junkie and my dad was a dealer. He was killed in prison.” Clinton’s hands moved about, adjusting the vents that were no longer on, resting on his knees, moving back to fiddle with the vents. “My grandparents weren’t in the picture, so I was raised in foster care until I was a freshman in high school. A private school in California noticed I was a skilled quarterback and offered me free tuition and a room with a host family for the next three years.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently.

“But that’s a P.R. person’s dream story. Why haven’t I heard of it before?” Why wasn’t it part of the online search results she’d made?

“Just because my football skills are up for public consumption doesn’t mean my private life is.” There was something in his tone she couldn’t quite decipher, a hardness she couldn’t trace to its root.

“You could have fooled me this week. You couldn’t talk about your marriage enough.” His, not hers.

“That’s because it isn’t personal.”

His words shouldn’t have rocked her so badly. That was where the steel in his words was based. This was business. She’d gone into this knowing it was a legal transaction, but she hadn’t considered how the deal was going to be executed on her own personal playing field.

Brenda could have a pity party later. Right now, she had to play out the ruse. “We got lucky. My brother and his wife are expecting any day, so they aren’t coming up. But we’ll still have to face my parents, Uncle John and Aunt Evie, and their daughter Lila, who’s in her first year at Berkeley.”

“Are they football fans?”

“No. Don’t think you can charm them with your celebrity.” It was hard to keep the sarcasm from her voice, because it was clear that’s the tact Clinton planned on taking. “They’re lawyers with a conscience who think professional sports are barbaric. Everyone you’ll meet except Uncle John does pro bono work. I’m considered the sellout in the family.” And boy, weren’t they right this time?

“If it helps any, you don’t have to bill me for your services.”

“You make it very easy to hate you.” Very, very easy. She took the exit east toward the small town of Harmony Valley.

“Pull over,” Clinton said.

“Are you car sick?”

“Just…pull over.” He’d turned in his seat and stared at her. And then he drew something from his pocket. “I got you a ring.” A princess cut boulder set in platinum. Five carats, easy.

“You carried that in your pocket? Without a box or a security guard or—”

His smile was different than she’d seen before. Relaxed, more authentic. Friendly. “I have deep pockets.”

“Clearly.” Brenda didn’t want to think about how much it cost. “I can’t wear it. It’s humongous. The weight would drag my knuckles to the ground.”

Clinton ignored her objections and slipped it on her finger.

Brenda couldn’t look away. She tried, too. She tried turning her head, but her eyes were glued to a rock the size of an eraser on her finger. “When we get to the house, you’re going to duct tape it to my finger.”

“Relax. It’s insured.” He wore a ring, too. Platinum with channel set diamonds.

In some small corner of her brain, a little voice whispered the ring was a sweeter gesture than the flowers for her mom. It would please her mother and legitimize things with her father.

The larger, lawyerly part of her brain spoke with more volume. It said its size was corresponding to Clinton’s guilt and that she should keep the ring after this was over to account for emotional damages.

“When this is over, I’m giving this back to you,” Brenda said firmly. She didn’t want anything to tie herself to him. She reached the gear shift.

“Wait,” Clinton said. “They’re going to expect us to be newlyweds. And newlyweds can’t keep their hands off each other.”

Brenda forgot about big rings and stared at his big hands.

“I think we need a practice kiss.” He said the words as normally as if he’d asked for mustard with his turkey sandwich.

“No.” She reached for the gear shift once more. “You can give me polite pecks on the cheek in deference to my parents.”

He covered her hand with his. “I don’t want you to flinch when I touch you.”

She wanted to say, “Then don’t touch me.” But that small corner of her brain whispered about innocent kisses and sweetness.

Clinton flipped her hand over and laced their fingers together. “Look. We fit. Kissing won’t be horrible.”

They didn’t fit. He was selfish, egotistical, media driven. Whereas she…She had always believed in justice for all. She’d crossed the line somewhere Monday morning and she wasn’t sure she could fly her white justice cape anymore.

He leaned across the center console and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, wow.” Her heart pounded so hard, her ears buzzed.

He gave her a tender smile. “Don’t think for a minute.” He pressed his lips over hers, stealing her breath. “That’s right,” he coaxed. “Relax.”

And then he drew her closer and deepened the kiss.

It wasn’t horrible.

He wasn’t horrible. He bought her family flowers and her rings and wanted her to feel comfortable in his arms.

When he drew back, Brenda was trembling inside. Maybe not just inside. Her hands were shaking. She rubbed them across her thighs. “I don’t think we’ll have a problem convincing them there’s a fire between us.” She just had to figure out how to play act with fire and not get burned.

* * *

The judge’s ranch was ten miles east of Cloverdale and about ten miles west of a small town called Harmony Valley. Clinton, who was used to excessive displays of wealth, was impressed by the property’s grandeur. They drove through a huge, arched gate down an asphalt road that was at least a quarter of a mile long and could be seen by the house.

Brenda pulled into the curved drive and parked in front of the wooden steps.

River rock and logs made the two story house seem massive. The porch rails were trimmed with pine garland and wreaths hung from the windows. A Christmas tree was already decorated in the front room.

Two older couples and a young woman waited for them on the front porch.

The woman wearing a long brown tunic raced down the stairs and clutched Brenda to her bosom. “I can’t believe you just up and got married without your mother.” Her gaze found Clinton’s. She had the same expressive brown eyes as Brenda. “You could have called me.”

“I was supposed to walk you down the aisle.” A tall, bald man spoke with a stoicness that Brenda had shown in the courtroom.

A lithe blonde woman wearing a Berkeley hoodie and black yoga pants hugged Brenda next. “I was supposed to be your bridesmaid.”

The judge stood with a tumbler in one hand and his arm around a thin blond woman at the top of the stairs. Clinton felt his disapproval like the calamitous grip of a defensive end when he was sacked. The thin blond studied Clinton as if she’d been briefed on his crimes.

Greeting of Brenda complete, everyone turned to Clinton. Since he’d begun winning games in high school, he’d generally been greeted with courtesy, enthusiasm, and sometimes even awe. Brenda’s family looked at him with disdain, distrust, and maybe even dislike. No one seemed to want to introduce themselves to him. They stared at him as if he was a freshly caught fish they weren’t sure was worth keeping.

And he deserved it. He knew he did. It was just he hadn’t realized his rash decision impacted anyone but Brenda. So Clinton did what any man would do. He hid behind his gifts, hoping they’d sway the crowd in his favor.

He handed Brenda’s dad an envelope with four tickets to Sunday’s Wolves game, and then pulled the flowers from the backseat, handing a bouquet to Brenda’s mother. He jogged up the steps to hand the other to the woman he presumed was Aunt Evie. And then he hurried back down the stairs to his bride’s side and settled his arm around her shoulders. “Honey, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Brenda did the honors, talking over her father, who mumbled again about missing walking his daughter down the aisle.

“There was no aisle walking.” Uncle John handed Brenda the tumbler. It looked like whiskey on the rocks.

Brenda took a generous swig.

“That wedding was as fine a business transaction as I’ve ever seen.” Uncle John fixed Clinton with a stare perhaps more fitting for a felon. “How are the newlyweds?”

“We’re fantastic.” Clinton stole Brenda’s drink. The whiskey tasted warmer going down than his reception here. “Check out Brenda’s ring.”

Brenda blushed as the females gushed over the size of the diamond, making Clinton glad he’d gone big.

“Welcome to the family,” Brenda’s mother Holly said. And then she threw her arms around him and squeezed with what sounded like a sob.

Her father shook Clinton’s hand. “What are your post career plans? I searched your history on the internet and it said something about a degree in aerospace engineering?” There was doubt there, as if jocks were always dumb.

“I interviewed with NASA and other agencies before signing up for the draft, sir.” When he was winning, the announcers liked to mention his academic career. “I was invited to intern at the jet propulsion laboratory in Pasadena.”

“And yet you chose sports.” Bob said it like it was a bad thing.

“I don’t care what Dad says, Clinton had me with the ring.” Lila pivoted around and hooked her arm through Brenda’s. “Did you bring your running shoes? Tomorrow’s the Turkey Trot.”

“Are we doing that again?” Brenda didn’t sound enthused. She popped the trunk and then dropped the car keys in Clinton’s hand. She brightened when she stole the drink back.

The majority of the group moved inside, leaving Clinton and the judge in the fading light.

“Do you need help with your luggage?” The judge peered inside the trunk. “I see you’re still packing separately. Two bags.”

Lots of couples traveled with separate bags. “I’ve got those, sir.”

“Call me Uncle John.” His voice was jovial, but then again, so was Clinton’s smile on the field. “Have you decided where to live? It’s not appropriate for our girl to move into your bachelor pad.”

His bachelor pad was a one bedroom high rise condo in the city. It wasn’t party central. “We haven’t had time to breathe.” Clinton was having trouble breathing right now. He wasn’t used to people poking around his personal life. The urge to poke back was strong. “It’s been a busy week.”

“That’s right. Big game for you on Sunday. First rematch of you and the Vipers.” The judge slapped Clinton on the back. “Come along. I’ll show you to your room, but if we don’t have dinner in five minutes, the missus is going to have my hide.”

The house was just as impressive inside as outside. Dark hardwoods announced every footstep. Farmhouse antique furnishings spoke of family history, or at the very least wealth. There were pictures of family everywhere. It looked like a home, whereas Clinton’s condo was beginning to look like the bachelor pad he was accused of having.

At the dinner table, the grilling continued, and not just of the tri-tip and vegetables.

“So, Clinton,” Bob said. “What did you say to my little girl that made her say I do before we’d even heard you were dating?”

“Dad,” Brenda turned to Clinton, who was seated next to her. “Don’t answer that.” Just like an attorney to counsel silence.

Clinton had other plans. He draped his arm casually across her chair back. “From the moment I met her, she lit up the room for me. She’s got the whole package. Brains, beauty, and—”

“Chutzpah,” the judge said without looking up from his vegetables. “None of us play poker with her anymore.”

“None of you is any good at poker,” Brenda grumbled.

“She’s got strength of character.” Clinton pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Brenda froze, her fork hanging mid-air.

To cover for Brenda, Clinton guided her fork to his mouth, stealing her last bite of steak.

“Whatever.” Lila loaded more pasta salad on her plate. “We always knew she’d marry one of you.”

“Lila.” Brenda gave Clinton a stern look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Clinton wasn’t going to, but he was going to defend his wife. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Lila.”

“High paid athletes.” Lila had the sharp blue eyes of the entitled. “Brenda spent years on the legal team for the players union, defending men who—”

“Have brains and souls and rights as employees,” Brenda said stoutly. “It doesn’t matter how much money they make. They deserve the same protections as someone working for minimum wage.”

“Were they worth defending in that last court case?” Bob demanded. “Was it worth jail time for contempt for athletes? Was it worth arguing with your senior partners over procedure and bargaining tactics, and being fired?”

“Yes. The same as it was worth it when you were cited for contempt for defending the rights of illegal immigrants.” Brenda stood. “I’ll always fight for what’s right, without regrets.” She walked out.

Clinton excused himself and followed.

* * *

“I can’t do this.” Brenda collapsed on the full-size bed as soon as she reached the bedroom.

“Having regrets?” Clinton sat in the chair by the door. He stared at her with the intensity he used when studying defensive formations.

It rattled her, that stare. It made her think of that kiss in the car. “It’s not right.”

“I like to think it was a creative alternative to incarceration, which sounds like another way to say it’s right for me.” He picked up a photo of her family in front of a Christmas tree. “Why didn’t you tell me you used to rep players?”

“If it matters, next time do a background check before you choose a bride.”

“There won’t be a next time.” He picked up a different photo. This one of she and Lila after they’d run a Turkey Trot. Lila had her arms wrapped around Brenda because it’d been her first win. “What’s Lila’s obsession with this Turkey Trot thing?”

“It’s a 10K run they hold in Harmony Valley on Thanksgiving Day. She’s beaten me the past four years.”

“So?”

“She considers it a personal triumph. The pressure to succeed is intense in this family.” Understatement of the season.

He raised a dark brow. “I consider you a success.”

“I wasn’t accepted to clerk for the Supreme Court.” Not like her father and Uncle John had been.

“You were bright enough to be hired by the ,” he pointed out.

“And they fired me for arguing about what I believed in.” She waved that accomplishment aside. “I have a long list of “almosts” that my family reminds me of.”

“Such as…”

“Almost was valedictorian in high school. Was awarded salutatorian.” She waved her hand in the air as if directing an orchestra through a litany of her not-good-enoughs. “Almost made it to the Olympics, but was cut in the last round. Almost married my college sweetheart. He’s now a U.S. senator.” And now she was married to a football star. Temporarily. Next year someone was bound to say, “You almost made that marriage work.”

“Go back to the Olympics part.” He came to stand by the bed. “What event?”

“I ran marathons. I earned a college scholarship as a runner.” She’d begun running to get away from the pressure of home.

He took her hand, the one with the super-sized wedding ring. “So beat Lila tomorrow. It’s only a 10K.”

“I haven’t trained, as in I haven’t ran in more than heels in years.” She’d lost the hunger somewhere. “And besides, it’s up and down this huge hill—it’s a heart-breaker of a course.”

“You can do it.” He gave her the polished smile, the one he used as quarterback. And then he tested the box springs with a couple tentative pushes. “A full size bed? I’m still going to crowd you.”

She sat bolt upright. “You’re going to sleep on the floor, big man.”

“But…” He frowned. “I’ll get a kink in my back. I have a game in a few days.”

“Floor.” She pointed as regally as any queen. “Or we’re getting a divorce.”

CHAPTER THREE

It was still dark when Lila and Brenda checked in at the race in Harmony Valley.

Clinton appeared at Brenda’s side, bearing coffee and chocolate croissants. “There’s a great little bakery on Main Street.”

“She can’t eat that before a race.” Lila gave Clinton a shove, that didn’t move him an inch.

“My wife eats like a champion and this race requires a special pre-race regime.” Clinton handed Brenda a coffee and croissant.

Brenda slurped the hot coffee. She hadn’t slept well, having listened to every heavy sigh and groan Clinton made during the night, and trying not to feel guilty for making him sleep on the floor.

There was a crowd milling around—racers, organizers, support groups. The sun began to rise over Parish Hill.

She led Clinton over to a bench beneath the large oak tree in the town square, slurped more coffee, and broke off a piece of warm croissant. “I might throw up when I reach the top of Parish Hill,” she said when Lila moved off to show her race shirt to the rest of the family. “Perfect excuse to walk across the finish line.”

“You’re stronger than that. Mind over matter.” He sat down next to her and put his arm over her shoulders. It was a nice arm.

She could get used to that arm around her whispered that small voice inside. “Is that what you told yourself when you played with four broken ribs in the playoffs last year against the Vipers? Mind over matter?”

A few people paused to stare at Clinton, as if trying to decide if a famous player was really in their midst.

“Pretty much.” He turned his head and whispered in her ear so only she could hear. “I was pissed that I was injured and I wanted to win.”

She was reminded that he liked to keep his personal life private, but knowing things about him few others did gave her a warm feeling inside. “One more hit and you’d have punctured a lung.”

“That’s why I told my line not to let anyone touch me.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and faced forward once more.

Brenda had seen that game. In the final seconds, he’d thrown a beautiful spiral pass to his receiver, who’d made the catch in the end zone for the win. Only thing was, upon review, the touchdown was overturned due to a technicality and they’d lost.

Brenda didn’t dare eat the entire croissant because they were calling people to the starting line. “Wish me luck.”

He stood and pulled Brenda to her feet. “Pace yourself. Keep Lila in your crosshairs and make your move at the end.” He kissed her nose.

She tried for bluster in her voice. She really did. “I think I know how to run a race.”

His grin sent adrenaline to her toes. “If you did, you’d never have eaten that croissant.”

Smiling, Brenda went to line up, only belatedly realizing she was still wearing Clinton’s ring. She called out to him, “Let me give you the ring.”

Before she took a step his way, Clinton waved her back. “Wear it. For luck.”

The gun went off to start the race. Instinctively, Brenda lunged forward. She started out stronger than she had in years, buoyed by the impact of Clinton’s confidence in her. At least through the flat parts of town. And then the real work began—ten switchbacks up the hill and ten back down—and she didn’t think much at all. She just kept Lila’s pink running shorts within twenty feet ahead.

By the bottom of the hill, Brenda’s legs were feeling like rubber, but somehow Clinton’s faith in her kept her going. In no time, they were turning onto the town square again.

“Make your move,” Clinton called, waving her on from the curb.

Brenda ran faster. She wasn’t going to be able to move later, but she could make her limp muscles move now.

Uncle John and Aunt Evie were applauding, but they were applauding for both women. Clinton was applauding just for her. He sprinted across the grass dodging the crowd to cheer her through the last section, elbowing spectators aside and finally just stepping off the curb and holding out his phone to take her picture as she closed the distance to Lila.

Clinton was an obstacle for runners who weren’t looking up. An obstacle for Lila it turned out, who stumbled and slowed as she dodged around him.

Because she’d competed for years, Brenda took advantage of Lila’s misstep to charge forward to the finish while Clinton jogged after Lila, apologizing.

Had he cheated for her? If so, he shouldn’t have. But…she’d won!

Seconds later, Clinton caught up to Brenda and put his arm around her waist. “That was a tough race. You look beat.”

No one had ever helped her after a race before, not even her anti-sports parents. She hugged him.

Being married wasn’t so horrible. Especially when he treated her to another croissant.

* * *

“Look at what I bought,” Holly said to Brenda as they were getting into the cars to drive home. She and Evie had shopped the boutiques in town. “A baby quilt.”

Clinton spared the women a glance before getting behind the wheel of Brenda’s car. The older women had the triumphant look of happy shoppers. Brenda’s cheeks were still pink from the race, but she smiled with unabashed longing at her mother’s find. She wanted to have kids.

“Is that for Raymond?” Brenda traced her finger along the blue and orange patchwork lines. “He and Mary are going to love it.”

“It’s for you.” Holly touched Brenda’s cheek. “For the baby you and Clinton are going to have someday.”

Brenda’s gaze found Clinton’s. Her cheeks flushed with as much color as she’d had at the end of the race. She had to be thinking accepting the quilt was a lie. She had to be thinking she and Clinton would never have a baby together. Whatever she was thinking, he wished she wouldn’t. He wished he could make it so she never had to compromise from doing what was right.

“Thank you, Holly,” Clinton said. “Blue and orange are the colors of the Wolves.”

“I didn’t know that.” Holly hugged the quilt to her chest. “This means something to you. Now I’m glad I didn’t pick the yellow and green one.”

The color of the Vipers.

The two older women sat in the back seat on the drive to the judge’s house. Clinton took Brenda’s hand, merely for the sake of appearances. Although her hand felt right in his.

When they arrived at the ranch, Brenda moved stiffly out of the passenger seat, groaning. “I should have walked the ten miles back. My muscles are cramping.”

Clinton swept her off her feet and into his arms. To the glee of their audience, he carried her up the stairs, waiting on the front porch for Evie to unlock the door.

“You can put me down,” Brenda said, blushing once more.

He kissed her nose. “I don’t want to.” He was surprised to find it was true.

He carried her all the way up to their room.

* * *

Evie and Holly put on Thanksgiving dinner in the afternoon, right in the middle of football.

When the call came out that there was five minutes before everyone was expected at the table, the judge pulled Clinton away from the others and the two of them headed to the bar.

“Hasn’t this gone on long enough?” The judge had that stern voice thing down, which to most people, when accented by the deep frown wrinkles on his face, would unravel their composure.

Being used to coaches yelling at him, Clinton wasn’t going to be pushed into losing his cool from a hostile voice. “Haven’t you hounded us enough, sir?”

“You’re a cheat.” The judge bounced ice cubes in his tumbler. “I’ve been thinking about your car. Why was it so important you get to it that night? I called in a favor to have someone search it. Does that rattle you?”

Three hundred pound pass rushers rattled Clinton. One thing the police report didn’t say was that he’d already been to his car when the tow truck driver saw him. He’d thrown the bag of pills underneath another car.

“Cheater,” the judge whispered. Clinton’s silence only seemed to make the judge more upset. He spilled whiskey while trying to fill his glass. “I saw what you did at the race. Don’t make Brenda a cheat, too.”

“I didn’t mean to get in the way, sir. There were so many people lining the course.” And Clinton had never come out in support of someone before, at least not someone who wasn’t on his football team. He’d always been a party of one with his own fan club.

The judge lowered his voice, trying to target Clinton’s weak spot. “If this gets out…this…this…false marriage. It’ll ruin her.”

Bullseye. Clinton didn’t want what they’d done to get out, but he wasn’t entirely sure the judge wouldn’t expose them if he had any proof or a confession.

“I can already see it’s eating her up inside. I’ll protect her, if you confess.” The judge gestured with his drink toward Brenda, who was working her way around the dining room table filling water glasses. “Look at her. She’s moving like an old woman.”

Clinton laughed, the sound drawing Brenda’s gaze and a soft smile. “Of course, she’s moving slow, sir. She just ran a killer race.” He left the judge at the bar and went to join his wife at the Thanksgiving table.

“Clinton, we have a tradition in this house of saying what we’re thankful for on this holiday,” the judge explained when everyone was seated. “You’ll need to come up with something loving to say to your wife.” The judge raised his half empty tumbler in salute. “As for me, I’m thankful for all of you, but especially for my wife, Evie.” He gripped his wife’s hand. “She’s my rock and my moral compass.”

Evie kissed her husband’s hand, eyes misty. “I’m just so thankful that everyone could make it here. I bet we’ll be driving to Los Angeles this weekend to see Raymond’s new baby. And I’m also thankful for Clinton—”

The judge scoffed.

Evie raised her voice. “Who so clearly dotes on our Brenda. It’s wonderful when true love finds you, isn’t it?”

While he listened to other tales of love and joy, Clinton took Brenda’s hand. He could see himself falling in love with her. She was kind and logical, and just cutthroat enough to bend the rules to win. But what if she couldn’t fall in love with him? What if the judge was vindictive enough to ruin her reputation in order to bring Clinton to task?

When it was his turn, Clinton turned in his chair to face Brenda. “I can’t believe someone like you just walked into my life and didn’t walk back out. You make me realize how selfish I am and how good you are. You and I…” He felt the table’s eyes upon him. “You and I…We have something special. I know you feel it, too.”

Her smile softened and she gave the barest of nods.

But was it love that was blossoming between them? How could he be sure?

“I…” Clinton couldn’t say he loved her. He felt like it could happen, but he didn’t want to lie. Not to her. Not when the emotion he read in her brown eyes made it hard for him to breathe. And so, he told the truth. “I’m falling in love with you.”

“What did he say?” Evie asked, alarmed.

“He should love her,” Holly said in a voice that broke. “Brenda? Brenda, what’s going on?”

The judge was grinning as he drained his glass.

“We’re not married,” Clinton admitted. “I took advantage of Brenda’s kind nature in the courtroom the other day. But make no mistake, I left her no choice.” He didn’t want her to be blamed for any of this. “I wanted to play in the game on Sunday more than I wanted to be the kind of man that Brenda could love—an honest one.”

Brenda still held his hand, but her head was bowed.

“You lied?” Lila looked shocked, and then she began to laugh. “Well, that explains it. The universe isn’t totally cracked after all.”

“Brenda, why did you go along with this?” her father demanded.

“I…I…” Brenda couldn’t seem to find the words that would reassure Clinton he was making the right choice by coming clean.

The judge lurched to his feet, bumping the table.

Evie grabbed his arm. “John, what are you doing?”

“I’m calling the sheriff.” He jabbed his finger at Clinton. “I want him back in custody before nightfall. I knew it. I knew you lied.”

* * *

From the living room window, Brenda watched the patrol car take Clinton away.

“I can’t believe that horrible man was able to coerce you into pretending to be married. What has the world come to?” Brenda’s mother had her arm around Brenda’s waist. “You’ll press charges, of course. Kidnapping sounds good. That’ll get him locked up for years.”

“He didn’t kidnap me.” Brenda turned around and faced her family. “Do you think so little of me that you’d believe I could be bullied like that? In the middle of the courthouse? In front of Uncle John?”

They all looked sheepishly away.

“Mom, Dad, you and Uncle Joe taught me about equal rights and justice for all. And yet, you pre-judged my clients in New York and Clinton based on what they do for a living. Where’s the equality in that? For years, I’ve let you talk down what I do, all because I charge clients for services.” She swallowed and took one last look outside at the disappearing taillights. “I help people. I’ve gotten settlements for retired players. I’ve helped clients who were injured on the job receive proper medical coverage. I’m out there fighting for justice, fighting for truth.”

“Then why did you lie?” Uncle John asked softly.

Brenda hesitated. “Because there was something about him—”

Lila laughed.

Anger had Brenda clenching her fists hard enough she felt Clinton’s ring around her finger. “He has the sincerity and desperation of a competitor. I understood that, more than I understand any of you.” She forced her stiff and aching muscles upstairs and collapsed on the bed.

A short time later, there was a knock on the door. “Can I come in?” It was Uncle John.

Brenda sat up. “If you’re going to file contempt of court charges against Clinton, you should also file them against me.”

“Let’s talk about that in the morning.” He smiled, but it wasn’t sincere or apologetic. “It’s Thanksgiving. Come downstairs. You should be with family.”

“I feel like you took my family away from me.”

“Now, Brenda—”

“Don’t “now, Brenda” me. What do I have to do to get Clinton out of jail?” She was still his lawyer. She could make sure Clinton played on Sunday with the right leverage. She just needed to know what it was.

Uncle John shrugged as if she should have known the answer. “Annul the marriage.”

* * *

“Hadley, you’ve got a visitor.” A sheriff’s deputy opened Clinton’s jail cell door.

It was Friday morning. Had his agent come back to town? Had his phone message to Coach Eggert gone through? Had the elder Mr. Wilson returned from the Bahamas to bail him out? Despite him taking a stand for what may or may not be love, Clinton still held onto hope that someone would get him out in time for the game.

Clinton hurried after the deputy, approaching the station he was directed to. And then he stopped.

His visitor gestured for him to pick up the phone, flashing a diamond as big as the state of Texas in the process.

Clinton lifted the receiver. “Brenda, what are you doing here?” And thankfully, you’re still wearing my ring.

“Mr. Hadley, I made a deal to get you out.” She held up a sheet of paper to the glass separating them.

“What’s the deal?” She looked heartachingly beautiful. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her something to make her smile.

Brenda dropped her gaze and bit her lip before answering. “Annulment. Uncle John will set you free in time to play the game if you sign these annulment papers.”

He noticed there was no signature at the bottom of the document where her name was. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that?”

She did. There was determination there. But it countered the ring on her finger. “You know our marriage was a lie.”

“But it doesn’t have to be.” Clinton set the phone back in its cradle and left her.

But he could still hear her yell, “I’m quitting as your lawyer.”

* * *

Saturday morning, the deputy returned to Clinton’s jail cell. “Hadley, you’ve got another visitor.”

“Are you getting out?” his cell mate asked. He was a small, wiry old man incarcerated for shoplifting. “I already bet against your team. You told me you weren’t getting out until Monday.”

Clinton again sat at a station and picked up the receiver. “Judge, if you’re here about the annulment papers, I don’t have anything to say.”

“I’m here to offer you a deal.” The judge’s gaze shifted sideways. “Annul the marriage and I’ll release you for Sunday’s game.”

The competitor in him was tempted, but he had a bigger win in mind. “Brenda didn’t sign the annulment papers, did she?” In their situation, it would only take one of their signatures to annul the marriage—a fact he’d learned via the legal advice of an advocate who’d stopped by yesterday. The question was: had Brenda refused to sign because she was protecting her reputation and job, or was she refusing to sign because she felt like Clinton? As if they had a chance at something important.

“I have an annulment document here,” the judge said. “Sign and you can play in your precious game.”

“I already told Brenda. I’m not signing.” Clinton stood.

“I don’t understand,” the judge said in his sternest voice.

“You should.” Clinton shrugged. “She’s worth it.” More than any grudge he held against the Vipers.

* * *

Sunday morning dawned. Clinton’s roommate was ecstatic because the Vipers were favored to win by ten points without Clinton playing.

“Hadley!” the guard on duty shouted as he opened the cell.

Clinton didn’t even get up. “Just tell me who it is and I’ll tell you if I want to talk to them or not.” By now, his agent should have returned. And the Wolves organization was probably trying to figure out how to get him out of jail. How big of a fine would Clinton be hit with for doing this? He didn’t care.

“It’s your lawyer,” the guard said.

Clinton hurried to see Brenda. Only it wasn’t Brenda. It was her mother, Holly.

“Mr. Hadley, I’m your lawyer of record.” Holly shifted uncomfortably. “Since Brenda quit.”

“I’ll make a donation for your time, but you can leave. I’m representing myself.” Clinton made to hang up the receiver.

“Please. She won’t talk to me.” Holly reached out to touch the glass. “She won’t talk to any of us and I…I suppose we deserve it.” Her hand slid slowly down the pane. “She seemed so happy with you. I didn’t believe it was a lie.”

Clinton sighed. “I think we recognized something in each other, something we trusted even when we were doing something crazy.”

“I’m here to offer you a plea deal.”

He shook his head. She couldn’t possibly offer him the deal he wanted.

“This is a good deal.” Holly pulled a sheaf of papers from her lap. “All you have to do is agree to time served and public service at the impound lot for eight hours.”

“No annulment?” He studied Holly’s face for any sign something hinky was going on, but she seemed sincere. “Did Brenda put you up to this?”

“No. I told you she’s not talking to us.” She leaned forward and whispered, “It was John’s idea.”

Clinton’s jaw might have dropped to the floor.

Holly glanced at the clock on the wall. “Five hours until game time. What’s it going to be?”

The annulment. His ring. Brenda’s silence. There was only one possible answer. “No.”

* * *

Brenda sat in a station at the country jail fuming at Clinton. She didn’t even wait for him to place the receiver to his ear to chew him out. “The game is in three hours. Mom said Uncle John offered you a great deal.” She wouldn’t have answered the phone if her mother hadn’t kept hitting redial.

Clinton’s grin spread from ear to ear. Brenda didn’t think she’d ever seen a picture of him looking that happy.

“I had a rider I wanted to add to the deal,” Clinton said.

Brenda tried to contain her frustration. “Mom could have handled that. You’re so confusing. You say…” She lowered her voice. “…you could be falling for me. And then when I try to help you make this game so your backup won’t play all juiced up—”

“I figured you wouldn’t see me again if I was released.” He gestured toward the ring she still wore. “Knowing you, you’d hire an armored vehicle to return the ring to me.”

He knew her too well. She planned to call a secure delivery service on Monday. In the meantime, she was afraid of taking the ring off. But it was a constant reminder of Clinton and his kindness. And his kiss. And a myriad of other things she liked about him.

“I don’t want an annulment or a divorce,” Clinton said, just as smiley as he’d been when he sat down. “I want to date you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think we have a shot. That’s what I want to add on to the release deal.” His grin faded and his voice softened. “We’re already in a committed relationship. Let’s date and see how this goes. If things work out the way I hope, we can have a big wedding.”

Brenda was confused. “Do you think things like big weddings and big wedding rings are important to me?”

All levity vanished from his face. “No. What matters to you is honesty and integrity and family. Those things matter to me, too. I just…I just haven’t had a family in so long…You might have to help me with that part.” He placed his palm against the glass. “Pep talks and croissants, like we had before your race.”

That small corner of her brain sighed. “I’m scared.”

“I won’t let you fall.” Clinton nodded toward his hand, an invitation ready for her to accept.

Brenda placed her hand across from his. “Maybe you can let me fall just once, since I’m falling for you completely.”

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, Melinda Curtis has a compelling Heartwarming romance, Marrying the Single Dad, coming out in November 2016. Available in paperback and digitally for order online at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

Apple-Pineapple-Blueberry Minis by Melinda Curtis

I make these every holiday. They’re a real crowd-pleaser—tasty with lots of texture and crunch. You may substitute different fruits that please your family, but you cannot substitute fresh pineapple for canned crushed pineapple, as fresh pineapple won’t allow the gelatin to set—learn from my mistakes!

Ingredients

1 can (20 oz) crushed pineapple

1 package (6 oz) strawberry gelatin (Jell-O)

1 small package (6 oz) blueberries

1 small apple, chopped

2/3 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped (optional)

Directions

1. Line cupcake pans with paper liners.

2. Drain canned pineapple, reserving juice in measuring cup. Add water to juice to measure 2 1/2 cups of liquid. Microwave liquid until boiling.

3. Mix gelatin into boiling pineapple/water mixture. Stir until completely dissolved.

4. Pour mixture into paper cupcake cups, filling each to half.

5. Add pineapple, blueberries, apple and nuts to each cup until liquid rises to the 3/4 mark.

6. Refrigerate for 2-3 hours until firm. Serve in liners.